


Just Another Bloody Stupid Romance

by juice817, semaphoredrivethru



Series: Past Curfew [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha Males, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juice817/pseuds/juice817, https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Bill and Oliver finally got their act together, Nigel has an assignment from the bank that has his future riding on the outcome.  Too bad for him that he's been saddled with Bill's baby brother.  Even worse, Bill's baby brother is distractingly not baby-like.  And did he mention straight?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're just joining in, Nigel is an OMC created for the _Past Curfew_ series. He became so epically awesome, we gave in and gave him his own story. Also, it turns out he likes redheads.
> 
> _Originally posted June, 2007._

~~~*~~~

 

Sunday mornings in the off season were the days Bill looked forward to the most. The sun just seemed to rise more slowly on those days, as though time itself was slowing down to give him more morning to spend in bed with Oliver, lazy and relaxed. There were no practises or games for Oliver, and no meetings or inspections at the bank for Bill; just relaxation and taking the dog for long walks on days that were fair enough for it. Sometimes, they'd just lie in bed for hours with Snitch at their feet as he dreamt of chasing squirrels, his long, tawny body twitching happily while Bill and Oliver talked about everything and nothing, now and then discussing the possibility of expanding their household once Oliver retired from flying full time. There were always children that needed homes, and with as much love as Oliver was capable of combined with Bill's family trait of nesting (late blooming as it might have been in him), they knew that their home would be perfect for one or more of those children.

On this particular Sunday morning, Bill woke early from a silly dream involving scones and tea, and when his stomach rumbled he knew it would be useless to try and fall back asleep. Still, it was much more relaxed than the previous Sunday, where Bill and Oliver had spent much of it talking about an offer Nigel had sent for Bill to join him on a job. It was a dangerous job that Nigel had brought him, and while Bill knew he could handle it, even after several years of what Nigel insisted on calling "flying a desk," Oliver hadn't seemed very keen on the idea. Bill was certain they'd talk about it some more today, but for now all that really mattered was making this morning's dream a reality.

Disentangling himself from Oliver's sleepy grip, Bill kissed his lover softly, waking him slightly as he spoke. "I'm making some tea," he said, kissing Oliver again. "Be back in a bit."

Oliver mumbled nonsensically back and pulled Bill's pillow into a cuddle when Bill climbed out of bed and made his way to the wardrobe for a pair of jeans. Decent enough for unexpected company, Bill padded down the stairs in bare feet. Snitch followed him into the kitchen, looking up at Bill with pleading brown eyes when he saw Bill pulling out the scones. Bill did his best to ignore the golden retriever, knowing he'd catch it if Oliver found out he'd been feeding the dog from the table again, but caved when he turned around from setting the kettle on to boil and Snitch gave a hopeful thump of his tail.

"Don't tell on me," Bill cautioned, breaking off a bit of scone and holding it out. Snitch took the offered treat at once, and, apparently knowing when not to press his luck, nuzzled Bill's hand in thanks.  
Oliver watched from the doorway, one eyebrow raised and a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Still, he didn't say anything, waiting until Bill's back was turned before moving silently into the room. He crossed to Bill, sliding his arms slowly around the still-slim freckled waist from behind and pressing his lips to Bill's shoulder. "No, Bill."

Leaning back against Oliver briefly, Bill just smiled for a moment. "But he just looked so hungry," he said. "I couldn't let the poor thing starve, you know."

Biting back a laugh, Oliver rested his forehead on Bill's shoulder. "I don't care how hungry Nigel looks, he can't have you for this one."

Bill finally turned around in Oliver's arms, looking down into his eyes. He didn't have to look as far down as he used to, but he was still noticeably taller, enough so that he could now and then get away with teasing Oliver about needing another growth spurt. Of course, just now, teasing wasn't on the order. "Nigel needs someone bloody good at their job to watch his back," he said, disappointed but not really surprised. "Are you certain, baby?"

"Yes," Oliver said almost hoarsely, eyes intent on Bill's face. "Find him someone whose job is watching his back, not another cursebreaker. You lot get so intrigued and focused on your job that an elephant could trample the bloke next to you and you'd not even notice until he missed his part of the breaking. We'll lose him otherwise, and if you went I'd lose you both." Oliver managed a faint smile. "Him I could do without, but..." Oliver's voice trailed off and he swallowed hard before again saying, "No."

"Are you saying cursebreakers can't walk and chew gum at the same time?" Bill asked, smiling gently as he touched their foreheads together and wound his arms around Oliver's waist, one hand flat and splayed across the warm, bare skin of Oliver's lower back. "When I said I wouldn't go without your okay," he murmured, "I meant it. Ron's already agreed to go in my place."

Oliver relaxed visibly, his smile becoming much more natural as it widened. "I would never give you gum while you're working," he said, lips twitching. He tilted his head so he could kiss Bill slowly. "Ron's a good choice," Oliver finally murmured. "He doesn't care so much about the curses, and he's a good Auror." Another kiss, and Oliver said, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I don't know," Bill said, grinning as he kissed Oliver back. "Nigel made the job sound like quite the adventure with all the danger and intrigue. Rescuing lost artifacts from ancient, forgotten Goblin vaults, rogue treasure hunters, Muggle warfare and unstable political climates... It all sounds so _exciting_." Teasingly, Bill cupped Oliver's arse and squeezed once before letting go with a wink to pour the water for their tea. "And Ron's not just a _good_ Auror," he added over his shoulder. "He's brilliant. And fucking bored with another three weeks to his leave."

Automatically, Oliver moved to set the table and put out the scones, the motions so familiar he didn't even realise he was doing it. "You forgot to mention the near certain death. Hell, Bill, the only reason they want a team in a vault that dilapidated is to increase the chances of someone making it back alive." Oliver shuddered slightly and frowned. "Maybe you shouldn't send Ron after all. And surely Nigel has other jobs he can do here."

Bill brought the tea over to the table, and then took his turn to wrap his arms around Oliver from behind. "It's Goblin logic, Oliver," he murmured. "Costs and dividends, that's all anything comes down to. And I've briefed Ron already when I reckoned you were going to say no. Nigel's got no choice, not if he ever wants a promotion again, and if I can't be there to keep him alive, I'll send the best I know."

Oliver had known Nigel had to take the job, knew Bill well enough to know he would only trust one of his brothers with his best friend. It didn't make it any easier to accept. He sighed and put his arms over Bill's, leaning back into the warmth and comfort of his lover's body. "I may not sleep again until they come back." Oliver smiled suddenly, almost a smirk. "And your mum'll kill you if they don't." Molly had considered Nigel another son since well before she'd welcomed Oliver into their family, and she was not going to be happy about either one of her boys going off into danger, much less two of them.

"Prat," Bill snorted, squeezing Oliver. "Just for that, I should tell Nigel you said you could live without him. He'll be devastated; he's wanted a crack at you ever since I first told him about you, and well you know it. Not that I'm planning on sharing, mind." Curving around Oliver's strong and solid body, Bill hummed softly and kissed Oliver's neck. It went without saying that Bill was going to be a wreck until Nigel and Ron returned, so he just kissed Oliver again, murmuring, "I couldn't do without you, either."

Reaching back, Oliver curved one hand around the nape of Bill's neck, smiling at Bill's joke about Nigel but unable to respond in kind for the knots in his stomach. "I love you. And they'll be fine."   
They had to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel wiped a hand over his face and sighed. He hadn't really expected Oliver to agree to sending Bill off again, especially not when the assignment was so incredibly dangerous, but he'd hoped. He'd missed Bill, he admitted to himself, missed the way they worked together so well, and missed his company. And he needed to do this job perfectly. As he got older the competition got younger, the jobs fewer. There were only so many cursed tombs out there, after all. This job was his ticket up at the bank, his path to a future out of the field. If he'd transferred when Bill had he wouldn't need it, but hindsight is 20/20. He knew Bill wanted to help, would do anything for him.

Still. Bill had no business sticking him with wee ickle Ronnie. Nigel knew intellectually Ron had to have grown up, that he'd been working hard - too hard - as an Auror, and a damn good one too, but the only mental picture Nigel had was of a very small round-faced boy covered in freckles with hugely wide eyes, awed by his trip to Egypt and kept in the background by the sheer force of personality so evident in the rest of his family. Nigel stifled a laugh. Especially the twins.

"Well, fuck," Nigel sighed, smile fading, and pushed Bill's letter away to reach for a clean sheet of parchment.

 

 _Fine. Oliver owes me, and I'm damn well collecting on this one. If we make it out of the Sudan alive, you prat. I can't believe I have to take care of your brother and save my own arse as well. Goblins want us there yesterday, so get your brother ready as soon as you can. With them squawking at the Minister, I expect I can get a portkey whenever I'm ready, and I'm ready when he is._

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron hefted his rucksack, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he walked up the flight of stairs to where Bill had said Nigel's flat was. The bag wasn't all that heavy really; a change of clothes, his warm cloak, a few medical supplies, a pad of paper for scribbling on if he needed it, and enough of what his superiors claimed to be food to last two men for at least two weeks. It probably should have been fairly heavy, all in all, but Ron had used a lightness charm on it, so it wasn't a problem at all.

In fact, the only problem Ron had was that Kingsley had forced him out on a month's leave, babbling on about burn out and the war being over. Ron snorted as he rounded a landing and kept moving up. Of course he knew the bloody war was over, but there were still dark wizards to catch, stray Death Eaters in hiding, people to keep safe. It wasn't Ron's fault he was nearly the only one in his division that took his job seriously enough, but you'd think it was from how everyone was treating him like some sort of fucking time bomb these days. Well, everyone except for Bill, who had been like a godsend with this job, because Ron had already read through all the books he'd been meaning to catch up on and the idea of being trusted enough to watch over Bill's best mate made the sting of being told by his friend and superior that he was in danger of going mad (not in so many words, mind, but Ron wasn't nearly as stupid as people thought he was) a little more bearable.

 _"Sit down, Weasley." Kingsley's voice, deep and enough to make a rookie shake in his trainers at any given time, was harder than usual, and Ron dropped into the visitor's chair immediately, despite his simmering temper. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"_

 _Ron arched one ginger-coloured eyebrow, resisting the urge to wince when it pulled at the cut on the other side of his forehead. "Malfoy's a fucking prat," he drawled. "Sir," he added, remembering himself a touch late._

 _"I see." Kingsley folded his hands over his desk, looking for all the world like he was the most patient man ever. Ron, having known him for half of his life, knew better. "And this is suddenly a problem after all this time, because?"_

 _"Bloke's got to have a breaking point," Ron muttered, hunching slightly. He was sore, tired and in desperate need of a bath to wash off the stink of his most recent mission. Maybe even a drink would be on order, too, if it could help get rid of the tension that he could feel, coiled tight in his shoulders and gut, dangerous and cold despite the fact that he'd finally -- **finally** \-- managed to nail that bastard Matthews. _

_Three months. Three, long months of following leads and weeding out dead ends, just to chase down some wanker that liked to play jokes on Muggles. Jokes that had hurt a few people, gaining him the attention of the Aurors. God, Ron really hated his life some times, but no matter how inane the assignment, Ron was going to do it, and do it well. There was just no other option as far as he was concerned. Especially since it seemed like all the assignments he was getting these days were more like child-minding than upholding the law, but Ron was pretty sure that whinging about it would only make it worse._

 _And then Malfoy had to go and start pushing Ron's buttons as soon as he'd walked in to make his report. Going on about how he needed a quick, sharp professional, someone with lots of field experience. Someone to help him get his cat down from a tree._

 _Ron had, understandably, lost it. Who wouldn't have?_

 _Before he'd thought about it, Ron had hexed Malfoy backwards, sending him tumbling ungracefully over a desk. Malfoy had hexed back, surprisingly enough, and at some point an innocent filing cabinet got caught in the crossfire, sending papers all over the place. They might have kept going at each other if Hermione, up for a visit from the Department of Mysteries, hadn't walked in just then and hexed the both of them solid, probably saving the rest of the office furniture in the process._

 _"Well, I've got my own breaking point, too," Kingsley said, bringing Ron back to the matter at hand, which was the continued state of his employment. "I've been getting reports of you over-reacting to the simplest of missions, taking things far too seriously. I've tried to make things easier on you, to give you a chance to realise that the war is over, Ron, but it just seems like you can't see it for yourself."_

 _Ron swallowed a retort that would have told Kingsley that he knew damn well the war was over, and that it didn't mean he needed to get lazy on the job. He'd become an auror to do things, catch dark wizards, make a bloody **difference** in the world while things were all cocked up from before and needed the sort of work Ron did the most. But as he looked into Kingsley's dark, serious eyes, Ron decided against saying all that, because he wouldn't put it past Kingsley to sack him right then and there if he thought Ron was a hopeless case. _

_"Nothing the matter with doing a job right the first time," he said instead, feeling like he was seventeen again and being reprimanded for doing something foolish again._

 _"But there is plenty wrong with over-doing it," Kingsley said, voice gentling. "You're headed for a burn-out of epic proportions at this rate, and I can't have that." He sighed and rubbed the gleaming skin on the top of his head, obviously buying time and it didn't make Ron feel too confident that this meeting was going to get any better. In fact, when Kingsley finally met his eyes again, Ron knew with a sinking feeling that things were about to get worse. "I'm suspending you, Ron," he said. "Both of you, because he's just as bad as you are. And if the both of you come back and start up again..."_

 _Kingsley trailed off, letting the threat hang there, because he didn't need to finish it. Getting fired would be only one of his worries, and not the most likely, knowing Kingsley. With Ron's luck around Malfoy and this whole department, he'd wind up partnered with the skinny little wanker, and then Ron really would get fired. For killing a co-worker and his supervisor._

 _"Fine," Ron sighed, and pushed on the arms of his chair as though to get up. He arched a ginger-coloured eyebrow at Kingsley, knowing he was pushing his luck and not caring all that much just now. Suspended? Burn-out? Well-meaning, over-bearing... "Is there anything else... sir?"_

 _"No." Kingsley shook his head and waved in the general direction of his office door. Like he was shooing a fly, and it took far more effort than it should have for Ron to keep from saying exactly what he thought about that. Instead, Ron just stood and left, his face probably as dark as his mood, if the way people were avoiding him the halls was any indication._

Standing in a poorly-lit hall now, Ron shook off the embarrassing memory of his suspension and glanced down at the note from Bill to make sure he had the right place. _Floor three, flat three_. Really, he wondered as he rang the bell, what is it about cursebreakers and living in Muggle flats, anyhow? Not sure if he'd pushed it properly, Ron rang the bell another couple of times. Just to be sure.

"Yeah, I know!" Nigel quickly wiped a towel over himself, missing most of the water. He wrapped it around his hips and grabbed another to rub over his hair. "I know, I know, you've said before." Nigel rolled his eyes as he headed for the door. His neighbours had fits every time he showered. Granted, the walls were thin and the pipes rattled, and the shared water heater didn't hold much to begin with, but for crying out loud. He was _dirty_ , worked a frequently dirty job, and so what if he liked to linger a bit and let the hot water work out the kinks? At least he'd stopped singing while he washed. Mostly. "Look," he said, tugging the door open sharply, "there's nothing... oh."

It wasn't his neighbours. A slow, unconsciously sensual smile crept over Nigel's face, and he gave his hair a final rub before hooking the towel around the back of his neck, the ends held in either hand over his chest. "What _can_ I do for you?" Nigel asked as his eyes travelled over the man in front of him. Nice looking bloke, tall, lovely red hair, quite fit... Very nice. Nigel's smile gained a predatory edge. "Or rather, do _to_ you, hmm?"

A bright flush crept up Ron's neck as he took in the other man's words and how very not dressed he was. "Nigel?" he asked, glad he didn't stutter despite the way he seemed to be positively hypnotised by the slow trail a single drop of water left as it made its way down Nigel's neck from dark brown hair and along his broad and tanned chest. Blinking, Ron forced himself to look up and meet warm brown eyes that looked distinctly smug at the moment. "Nigel Jacobs?"

"You've definitely found the right flat." Nigel found the flush both charming and encouraging, and his smile widened even further. He stepped back out of the doorway, holding the door open encouragingly. Muggle or wizard? The young man was in jeans and jumper, so no clues in the clothes. "Come into my parlour," Nigel purred. "Won't you be my fly?"

Ron blinked again and coughed. "I'm Ron," he said, adjusting his bag again but not coming any closer. "Ron Weasley? Bill said you were expecting me?"

"Oh, fuck." Now it was Nigel who went bright red, his demeanour immediately shifting from man-on-the-prowl to pure embarrassed wizard. "Yeah, I, god. Sorry. Bill said you were straight, too. Look, I - come in. Come in. Sit. I'll be right back with clothes on." Nigel grabbed the towel from around his neck and wiped at his hair again. "Bill didn't say exactly when, and god. You look a lot like him, I should have known."

Nigel shut the front door behind Ron, who gave him a wide berth as he walked in. And really, who could blame him? Nigel was mortified, and suddenly uneasy over whether or not this partnership would work now he'd all but propositioned the man who was supposed to watch his back. "Right back, make yourself at home," Nigel said, and escaped into the bedroom as fast as he could, shutting the door between them.

Running his hand through his thick hair, Ron let a grin twitch across his lips as soon as he was alone, despite his own discomfort. The next few days were going to be... well, Ron had had missions start off worse, he reckoned. And at the very least there wouldn't need to be too much dick-waving, being as Nigel had already taken care of _that_. Ron snorted at his own joke and dropped his bag on the floor before sitting in a nearby chair to wait.

Dressing quickly in jeans and a jumper not unlike Ron's, Nigel hung his towels back up in the loo and ran a comb through his still damp hair. The embarrassment was fading a bit, but unfortunately, his attraction for Bill's baby brother was not. Nigel stared at himself in the mirror. "You're on a job," he reminded himself. "It'll be fine, because there won't be time for fucking around." With a laugh, he added, "Literally."

Equilibrium mostly restored, Nigel wiped a hand over his face and headed for his living room, taking a breath before opening the door with a small smile. "You don't look at all like I remember you," he said to Ron apologetically, "and Bill didn't say exactly when you'd be here, and you're quite attractive. I'm sorry for the come on, I honestly don't usually answer the door that way. Was caught off guard, and I - well." Nigel laughed. "Bill tells me I talk too much. You're ready, are you? He explained the job?"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking sideways at Nigel for a moment, clearly wondering how this bloke and smooth, cool Bill had become best friends. But it wasn't as though Bill was asking Ron to move in here (thank goodness); just this one job to watch out for Nigel and to pass the time until Ron could go back to work. Ron could deal with one wizard who liked to babble, especially after knowing Hermione for so many years. At least as long as Nigel stayed dressed, because Ron was having trouble looking at him and not picturing his greeting all over again. Turning to face Nigel, Ron kept his face calm and his voice business-like as he ticked off the major points of the mission. "Sneak into the Sudan, find a vault that we only vaguely know where it is, locate the Mystical-Shiny-Whatsis and bring it back without getting ourselves killed in the process." He let one corner of his mouth twitch up in an almost grin as he added, "And a bloke can change a lot in eleven years, you know."

"God, did you ever," Nigel murmured, and then shook himself. "Close enough," he said in a normal voice, and grinned at Ron. "Although we do have a bit more information on where the vault is, and we're going to portkey instead of sneak." Nigel snorted. "But it's next thing to sneaking, because we aren't to let the official types know we're there if we can help it." Nigel sobered, serious and calm for the first time since opening the door to find Ron on the other side. "You're right about getting back. If the _statue of Anansi_ and accompanying curses don't kill us, there's every chance the Sudanese wizards will kill us for removing it from the vault, to say nothing of taking it out of the country."

Ron straightened in his chair, impressed by the abrupt switch in Nigel to all-business. Responding in kind, Ron leant forward, elbows on his knees. "Right then," he said. "Why don't you show me what you've got?" He blushed brightly at his own words. "Er, I mean, show me the file?"

Nigel managed, barely, to resist the temptation to say something suggestive. Barely. He couldn't stop the sly grin, though he didn't say anything as he walked quickly to the cabinet in the far corner. Pulling his wand, he murmured a series of charms and gave a complicated flick at the cabinet before pulling open the top drawer and removing a file. "We can't take this with us," he said, lips still faintly curved. "I have the information memorised, although you don't have to. Read through it, see if you have any questions before we go. Drink?"

"Tea's fine," Ron said absently, standing to take the file. The move put him close to Nigel, and Ron backed away as soon as he could, not very sure that being in arms' reach of his partner was the best of ideas. For either of them. Especially considering how Nigel had been looking at Ron like the last sweet on the shelf not all that long ago. He leant back against the wall, ankles crossed as he held the file, dark blue eyes scanning the pages, though not as thoroughly as he'd have liked in his flustered state. For some reason, Ron was hyper-aware of Nigel, and it was bloody well distracting.

"Sit," Nigel said softly with an inward sigh. This might not work, but at this point there wasn't a choice. Gringott's was insisting on two people; the goblins were thrilled to have the Weasley's Auror brother going, and were pushing to have them in the vault _yesterday_. "I'll make tea."

His gross error in judgement might end up being a far greater risk to their lives than even the deadly curses surrounding the statue the goblins wanted so desperately. Nigel knew he'd have to be extra careful and even more controlled than he normally was on a job so Ron would relax enough for them to be a team. He only wished they had more time to get comfortable with each other, and knew it was his fault they needed time they didn't have. Another sigh, this one outward but quiet, was the only sound as Nigel walked to the kitchen, leaving Ron with the file.  
Ron absently waved Nigel off, already losing himself in the soothing rhythm of preparing for a mission. The job looked to be everything Bill had said it would be and more, and Ron was outright intrigued by the danger they'd be waltzing into. He dug around in his bag for his notebook and tore out a sheet of paper to take notes on as he read. They'd need a cover story in case they ran into anyone while they were looking for the vault, of course. But Ron still remembered a lot of that plant information he'd picked up the one time he'd posed as a botanist, so that might be the way to go. Treasure hunters wouldn't be likely to be able to tell he was fudging his way through it, anyhow...

Nigel watched from the doorway, seeing clearly that Ron was fully engrossed, and taking the opportunity to study the young man who had, as he'd said himself, changed a lot in eleven years. Taller, of course, and lean, fit from the hard physical work involved in running down Dark wizards. Hair needed a trim, but then again so did his own. Watching Ron eased Nigel's concern over their safety; the boy knew what he was about. When the kettle whistled Nigel pushed himself away from the doorway, turning back into the kitchen to fix tea he didn't want. With a wry smile, Nigel fixed a tray for one. Ron would be busy for awhile, and Nigel had been out a bit later than perhaps he should have been the night before.

Careful not to disturb Ron's concentration, Nigel took the tray in and set it on the table next to the open file. "Wake me when you're done," he murmured, not sure that Ron even heard him, and went back into his bedroom. He left the door open, crawling onto his bed fully clothed, and let himself fall into sleep with a sigh of pleasure. Really, there was nothing quite like relaxing into the mattress and letting go...

It was more than an hour, possibly closer to two, when Ron sat back from his reading and note-taking, and rotated his head to get his neck to pop repeatedly. It was a bad situation they were walking into, but certainly not the worst Ron had ever seen. He could handle this. Especially if Nigel kept his shirt on, because while Bill might have been right when he'd told Nigel that Ron was straight, Ron would have had to have been _blind_ not to notice how fit Nigel was earlier. Bad enough, really, that there wasn't much to be done for Nigel's strong, square jaw and that grin that made Ron want to grin back even though he was pretty sure he didn't get the joke.

"You really need to get laid, mate," Ron muttered to himself, taking a sip of cold tea. He always got bad like this, noticing every fit body that passed by -- even men -- when it had been a while since he'd been with a girl, and it was going on eight months. Which, at Ron's age, was damn near criminal. Standing, Ron stretched a bit and went to go find Nigel.

Nigel was passed out on a large bed, sprawled on top of the covers, one bare foot hanging over the edge of the mattress. He didn't so much as twitch when Ron called his name the first time, much less the second time, and Ron couldn't help roll his eyes and hope that he wouldn't be such a sound sleeper in the field.

"Nigel," Ron said, leaning over him and shaking him by the shoulder. "Wake up. I'm finished reading."

Quick as a snake striking, Nigel grabbed Ron and rolled, pinning the younger man underneath his own solid body in two seconds flat. "Mmm," Nigel said, nosing at Ron's neck, still not quite awake despite his fast reaction. He slowly blinked, realised what he'd done, and froze. "Fuck," he said wearily.

Scowling, Ron pushed Nigel away. "I reckon I should be glad you didn't come up swinging, at least," he grumbled, climbing out of Nigel's bed. "You always sleep with your work partners? Somehow, I think Oliver doesn't know that."

Nigel sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. "Oliver knows everything he needs to, and if it ever becomes necessary for you to know I'll tell you," he said quietly. "Until then, I can only offer more apologies, and remind you that we aren't on the job yet. Things are much different in the field, even for mere cursebreakers."  
Ron arched an eyebrow at that. "No need for _you_ to be the grumpy one," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Whatever. I'll be out there if you want to talk about the job," he said more clearly, jerking his head in the general direction of the living room. "And if you think you can keep your hands on yourself. To! To yourself," he corrected quickly. "Fuck. I'm going now."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Nigel couldn't quite stifle a brief snort of laughter at Ron's slip of the tongue as the kid almost ran out of the room. He took a few minutes, and a few long deep breaths, trying to control his reaction to the thought of Ron's tongue slipping not verbally but physically against his own. "Fuck is right," Nigel murmured. He stood and adjusted himself, then went to the loo to splash cold water on his face. "Job," he said to himself firmly. "Concentrate on the _job_."

"Look," Nigel said, walking out into the living room and sitting on the edge of a chair, hands clasped between his spread knees and elbows braced on his thighs as he looked steadily at Ron on the sofa. "We started off wrong, and it's my fault entirely. Once we're on the job, there will be no more missteps, I promise you." Nigel smiled faintly. "I know I'm a bit loony and talk too much, but I am damn good at my job, and even Bill's complained about being ignored when I'm focused on work. Speaking of which, do you have any questions before we go?"

Ron shook his head. "Not really, no," he said, rolling his shoulders and willing them to relax. There was no good reason why he'd let Nigel pin him like that, and Ron knew it, but as he looked over at Nigel, Ron couldn't help but remember the strange sensation of being covered by a heavy, non-threatening body. Actually, Ron was beginning to suspect that Nigel was threatening after all, just not in any sort of way Ron could avoid without bollixing up the mission entirely. Clearing his throat, Ron shrugged. "I may be straight," he said, trying to help clear the air while their lives weren't in danger just yet, "but I know you're not. I reckon I'm flattered, but more than anything else I'm grateful for the apology. Either way," he added, "unless you've got a cover set up for us that you haven't mentioned, I've got one that's easy enough to maintain."

Nigel grinned. "I'm not so much about all the cloak and dagger, that's your department. I'll take care of getting the statue without getting us killed once you get us in, yeah?" He stood again and went back to his bedroom to grab his own satchel from his closet. Back out in the living room, Nigel grabbed a leather jacket from the coat rack by the door and shrugged it on. "Are you ready, Ron?"

"Waiting on you," Ron said with a grin. He slipped the file back in the still-opened drawer and secured it before grabbing his belongings. Ron was itching to go, and not even the tension between him and his new partner was enough to stop him. With a decided spring to his step, Ron joined Nigel by the door. "What about you, Nigel?" he asked with friendly challenge. "Are _you_ ready?"

"I was born ready, kid." Nigel smirked at Ron, then dropped his satchel and quickly crossed to the file cabinet to murmur the reverse spells and secure the cabinet once again. He walked back toward Ron, his stride confident and unconsciously sexy. Well, maybe not entirely unconsciously - he couldn't help but think sex when he looked at Ron and once again felt the tug of arousal, mixed with regret that he'd never be able to even taste. Forcing his mind back to _the job_ , Nigel smiled as he picked up his satchel again. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was developing a new mantra for this trip. _The job. Just the job._

Slinging his satchel over his head so the strap crossed his chest, the bag resting on one hip, Nigel dug in his pocket for the innocuous looking bottle cap. It was bent from when it had been popped off its beer bottle, the underside still slightly sticky, and Nigel gave Ron an apologetic smile as he held it out in the palm of his hand. Still, he couldn't stop the words that fell from his lips. "Won't you hold hands with me, just once?"

Snorting despite the blush Ron could feel creeping up his neck again, Ron managed a casual shrug. "All right, then," he said, sliding his fingers deliberately over Nigel's, like he was taking a girl's hand. "But I'm warning you, I don't kiss on a first date."

"That's a shame," Nigel murmured, "but I can be patient." Nigel curled his own fingers around Ron's wrist once it was in reach, amazed in the back of his mind that he could feel the simple slide of fingers over his deep in the pit of his stomach. He convinced himself it was simply the tug of the portkey as it whisked them off, out of his flat and deep into Africa.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

When Bill had offered him the job, warning him over and over about the dangers he could encounter, Ron had been excited at the prospect of doing something that would require so much from him. Something to keep him from going soft during a solid month of leave, as it were. And once they'd portkeyed into the Sudan, right into the middle of the bloody Nubian Desert, Ron had been ultra vigilant, always watching the horizon and the sky, not trusting the next dune to be anything less than a trap set by mercenaries, hired to steal the statue. Apparently, this statue was a big deal, supposedly long-lost and full of weather magic. And weather magic, no matter where you were, was strictly controlled.

But throughout that first day, while Ron glared at everything from circling birds to snakes, nothing really happened. Oh, Nigel found some tablet or another and got all excited about it, babbling on about following the clues. The _clues_ , like they were on some sort of ruddy scavenger hunt. By the end of the day, Ron had a pounding headache from squinting into the sun and a mild case of sunburn thanks to his own stupidity at underestimating just how _bright_ the late afternoon sun could be. The next day, Ron was more careful in protecting his skin and he also transfigured a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes.

By the third day, when they would be reaching the blurry line between desert and forest, Ron was damn near napping while Nigel dug about in a cave. He wasn't actually asleep, not really, because Ron was aware of everything around him. From Nigel muttering to himself to the quiet sound of wind brushing by the mouth of the cave, Ron was still keeping watch. Just with his eyes closed and his hat pulled over his eyes.

Nigel stopped puttering, likely about to get shirty about Ron sleeping on the job, Ron reckoned. "Ready to go, then?" Ron asked, just to prove he was awake, even if he wasn't moving just yet, as he'd found a particularly soft patch of sand to sit on.

"Soon," Nigel said absently. With Ron's hat over his eyes, Nigel felt safe in letting his own eyes drift slowly over the lean length of Ron's body. Mostly he could keep his mind on the job; he truly loved his work, loved solving the puzzles involved and loved finding artifacts, cursed or otherwise. He'd even briefly considered archaeology once, and Muggle university. So it was easy for him to lose himself in tracking down the vault and finding the statue. But then he'd look up to show Bill what he'd found, or share a joke, and it would be Ron instead. Ron, who was still more quiet than his brothers, whose slow, easy smile went straight to Nigel's cock.

Nights were the worst, though. There was only so much research and paperwork Nigel could do, especially given their location and dearth of books and resources. And they were sharing a tent, too basic to have more than the one bedroom and a loo, although thankfully there were two cots. It didn't even have a kitchen - they were cooking over a small shielded fire that had to be put out as soon as they were finished, to minimise the chances of being seen. After eating, there wasn't much to do. Nothing to occupy Nigel's mind, and while he'd talked and laughed with Bill when they worked together, he felt an odd constraint with Bill's baby brother. He was afraid to get too casual and comfortable with Ron. Already without that comfort, Nigel's constant reaction was flirting and a need to touch. Already after only two nights, his _just the job_ mantra wasn't working any more. And somehow no matter how hard he tried, Nigel simply couldn't make himself think of Ron as just "Bill's baby brother".

 _Stop it_ , he told himself sharply. _He's straight, and you've come too close to fucking this up once already._ Nigel sighed softly and turned away, bending to gather his satchel from the mouth of the cave. "We should go. We really need to get well into the forest before we camp tonight."

"Mmm..." Ron rumbled, stretching his arms up over his head, hat falling off his head as he sat up and rotated his neck, eyes closed in pleasure. "'Kay."

Oh god. Nigel almost whimpered at _sounds_ Ron made, his traitorous brain providing a picture of Ron writhing underneath him, the moan a result of Nigel's cock moving inside Ron rather than the feel of muscles stretching after time spent still. "Whenever you're ready," Nigel said shortly, hands clenched against the need to _touch_.

Grinning crookedly, Ron stood fluidly, still trying to work out the kinks in his muscles. "I'd do just about anything for a change in scenery, Nigel," he said with a laugh. "Sand doesn't really do it for me, I'm sorry to say." He bent, scooping up his bag and his hat with a flourish.

Nigel wanted to work out the kinks for him, wanted to ask what _did_ do it for Ron. Instead he turned away without a word, headed for the forest, trusting that Ron would follow. God help him, Ron would be right behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron slouched back against a tree, glad they'd finally reached the forest and could chance keeping the fire going a little longer than strictly necessary now. He slapped at a bug trying to drain him of blood, cast a bug repellent charm, and admitted at least the endless sand dunes had been a bit better in some ways. Still... he chanced a sideways look at Nigel, sitting in his own slouch well over arm's reach away. Evenings had been... _uncomfortable_ , what with the two of them stuck in the narrow confines of their tent with nothing but each other and books that made Ron's eyes cross to read.

Hell, he'd even taken to writing in his notebook, like it was some sort of blasted journal. Recollections about the war, mostly, trying to figure out when it was he'd developed this mad urge to make sure the people around him didn't run off and get themselves killed. Though, really, Ron knew it probably had more to do with his first year at Hogwarts than anything else, but then that made him feel more than a bit like he was mothering Harry, and that was just _weird_.

Although it was a great way to avoid thinking about why he was so uncomfortable around his current working partner. Every time he let his mind wander that way, Ron found himself thinking about how the water had run and dripped unevenly, forging pathways through the fine hairs on Nigel's chest, and again he was back at the weird and looking for something else to think about. Something that didn't involved being pinned beneath nearly fourteen stone of sleepy, muscle-bound wizard. Ron coughed to clear his throat and shifted slightly as he continued to Not Think About It.

"So," he said at last, more than eager to break the silence. "So what do you do when you're not chasing down legendary statues?"

Nigel cracked one eye open, then the other, then cocked an eyebrow at Ron. _Fuck_ , he thought. _As often as I can._ "A little of this, little of that," is what he said. "Not as much of it as before Oliver claimed Bill, but I entertain myself." Nigel stretched slowly and yawned. "You?"

Ron shrugged. "Work, mostly," he said with a crooked grin, and then shrugged again. "Go out on the weekends with a couple mates now and then. Been staying in lately since I got suspended from work, though. Catching up on my reading, been thinking about getting one of those Muggle telly-things. Life in the fast lane, that's me," he added with a laugh that was just a hair uncomfortable. Bill had mentioned now and then that he used to go to pubs and pick up blokes before he met Oliver, and really, Ron wasn't so dense as to miss that Nigel'd been talking about shagging. "So you used to sleep with my brother, then?"

Nigel choked on the inhalation of air he'd just taken and sat up abruptly. "No," he said. He ran a hand over his face and laughed. Fucking Bill once didn't count, and it wasn't Ron's business. Shooting Ron a sideways look, Nigel noticed the blush and thought almost wistfully that he'd like it to some time be Ron's business. He sighed and looked away. "No, I used to go to clubs with your brother, Ron." Nigel laughed again, ruefully this time. "The boys there generally preferred Bill, but I did well enough for myself. Usually." Bringing his knees up, Nigel wrapped his arms around them and linked his fingers together. "You don't want the details, I expect. I have a telly, it's addictive. You can just buy the set and have a few shows, or pay money and get even more shows, or so I hear." Nigel looked at Ron again and grinned. "I'd never leave my sofa if I had more shows."

"Not much for details from people I haven't been naked around, really," Ron admitted on a mumble, still blushing. "My mate Seamus," he went on, trying to turn the conversation back around because he still wasn't thinking about Nigel and naked in the same breath. Really, he wasn't. "He's got a telly and he's always telling me how brilliant it is. I'm not so sure, really. The last time I saw one in a Muggle pub, they were playing some mad sport. Grasshopper, or something, you know?" He shook he head, the grin coming back as he finally managed to look at Nigel again. "Muggles are a mental bunch."

"No argument there," Nigel said. "But I'm not sure wizards are any better." He grinned. "Cricket, not grasshopper. And football's better. Rugby's best. It gets right violent at times, and it took a few times before I understood the rules." Nigel yawned again and tipped himself over sideways, stretching out and propping his head on one hand. "I don't expect you and your mates do what me and mine did - what _do_ you do? You and your Seamus?"

"The usual," Ron said with another shrug. He seemed to be shrugging a lot, he noticed, and decided to stop it. "Catch a match now and then, since I've got a player in the family and all. Go to pubs." He paused and grinned. "Talk to girls that look like they're in need of some company, if you know what I mean."

Nigel sighed. _Straight. Right._ Nigel's arm dropped oh-so-casually from where it had been resting along his leg so that it fell directly in front of his crotch as his mind showed him what a predatory Ron might look like. His fingers played absently in the grass. "I know what you mean. I, er, _talk_ with boys who have the same look." He sent Ron a considering look. "How is it I haven't seen you since Egypt years ago? I go to a few matches, and spend a fair amount of time at Bill and Oliver's place. I see your mum quite regularly too." It occurred to Nigel that if he'd been exposed to Ron, as it were, that maybe he wouldn't be in the situation he found himself in now, that familiarity would have bred, not contempt certainly, but perhaps immunity. Then again, maybe it would have gone the other way and he'd be stark raving from need now. He huffed a small, almost silent laugh. No way to know which.

Ron laughed softly and rolled his shoulders back. "You've just been lucky, I reckon?" he offered, lifting his big hands up helplessly. "Really, I try to avoid too much family things when I've got a new girl, since we Weasleys can be a bit... well, a bit much. And when I'm single, which seems like more'n not anymore, it's always _when are you going to follow Bill's example, Ronald? Even Charlie's found a nice girl, and you should see Ginny with her bloke_ ," he said, doing an eerie impression of his mother. "I swear, if the woman tries to fix me up with one more friend's niece..."

"Not the nephew?" Nigel roared with laughter. "She, she wants you to find a fit young Quidditch player, then? Doesn't she know you're straight? Follow Bill's example," he repeated, and laughed again, rolling to his back.

"She means settling down," Ron said, chuckling as he threw a clump of leaves in Nigel's general direction. "Prat."

Nigel was still laughing, although he'd calmed a bit. "I know," he snorted, "but really. Left yourself wide open with that, you know." Nigel stared up at the endless field of stars above them, hidden here and there by the trees that surrounded them. "Oliver was so nervous about what your mum would think of him, of _them_."

"As far as I know, the worst part was that Bill'd kept it a secret for so long," Ron said. "We give privacy, but us lot are usually balls at keeping secrets. It helped, I reckon, for Mum to hear that Bill had someone he loved and was serious about. Though it was a bit tough for me, since a year before I'd been sitting at the breakfast table with him, you know?"

"I can understand that," Nigel said. He smiled. "It gave Bill a bit of trouble too, how young Ollie was. And Bill's always known your mum wanted grandkids, he hated disappointing her. Telling your parents about this sort of thing is never easy; I don't think he quite knew how until he took the kid home with him and didn't have a choice."

Ron grinned back and brushed the hair away from his eyes. "Yeah, I reckon so," he said. "Mum probably was disappointed, but she never said anything to me about it. How about you? Did your parents take it okay when you told them?"

Nigel's smile faded a bit. "They died before even I knew, but I like to think they'd've loved me anyway." He shrugged a shoulder. "And at least I never get the 'settle down' comments."

"That's one good thing, then," Ron said quietly, looking over at Nigel, still sprawled out on his back and looking up at the night sky. He could imagine what it would be like to lose his parents, had worried about it plenty during the war, even. But to not have had them most of his life like he had? They'd always been in the background, solid and steady and _there_ for him. "I'd reckon..." he said, and then rolled, laying down on the ground so that the crowns of their heads were very near. "I'd reckon, from what I've seen, they'd be pretty proud for you as a son." He blushed hotly and groaned at how _girly_ that sounded. "Or something like that, yeah?"

"Thank you," Nigel whispered, throat tight. He hoped Ron was right. His dad had been a serious, hard-working man with a sense of humour that was a bit surprising from such a quiet soul and his mum just as quiet but with so much love in her eyes, her smile, that it hurt Nigel just to remember. They had loved each other just as much as Bill and Oliver loved one another, and Nigel thought _at least they went together_ , automatically, as he did every time he thought of them. The phrase had ingrained itself into his eight year old mind in the days after the accident, during and after the funeral, as the adults around him had repeated it incessantly.

For a long while, Ron just let the night-quiet settle around them, the fire crackling nearby a comforting sound that often reminded Ron of home and being stretched out on the rug hearth and reading his Martin Miggs comics, back before Ginny got big enough to try and pinch them and he had to hide them in his room. It was a strange thought, having home in mind while he was in the middle of nowhere with a virtual stranger that wasn't so much of a stranger now. Ron pillowed his head on his hands and looked up, grinning slightly. "The stars are different here," he said. "Or maybe I should have just paid attention to my astronomy classes?"

Nigel smiled faintly. "You should definitely have paid more attention, but you're sort of right. We're much further south, so the constellations you're used to seeing aren't where you think they should be. Some of them you won't see at all."

Ron snorted and freed one hand to blindly reach for Nigel, shoving at his shoulder. "That's kind of creepy how you reminded me of my best friend just then," he laughed. "Even now, when I'm a big boy all on my own, Hermione's always on me about something."

"Women do that," Nigel laughed. "Your best friend is a girl?" He snickered. "What happened to the Boy Who Lived?"

"My friendship swings both ways," Ron said blithely, giving the answer he gave anyone who asked. "And you know, Harry bloody well hates that nickname."

Nigel had to actually bite his tongue. _Do you, Ron? Do you swing both ways?_ He curled his hands into fists as his body tensed. He wanted to roll up on all fours, crawl over Ron, pin him to the ground and take his mouth roughly. _Fuck_. Nigel swallowed and spoke a bit roughly. "I'm sure he does. I know I would."

Something shivered down Ron's spine at the tone in Nigel's voice. Something that pooled low in his gut and made parts of Ron that had no business in the conversation take interest. _Should have gotten some before I left_ , he thought, tucking his hands under his head and trying to force his shoulders to relax. _Eight bloody months is too long to go without, and that's a fact_. "Yeah, well, Harry's got this mad complex of his," Ron said, instead of shifting nervously or trotting off to hide in the tent like he wanted to. "He hates people that go on about things he did as a baby, when it's not like it was all that heroic if he didn't even mean to do it in the first place."

"No, I don't suppose he likes it, but I certainly understand why people consider it heroic." Nigel linked his fingers behind his neck and stared at the stars. "You don't know what it was like. Neither does he. Even I don't really understand that well, because I was just a kid. But I do remember how frightened Mum was. They died before Harry was born, so they never knew the relief that came with Harry's victory. He became a symbol, Ron, one that brought so much comfort to the Wizarding World." Nigel shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sure it's difficult to be a symbol like that, but it's too bad he doesn't seem to understand what a blessing he was."

"Oh, trust me, Harry knows," Ron said, voice heavy with knowledge. "We all know, because we had to help him do it again, this time on purpose, not to mention finishing the job this time, too. I've seen what Voldemort did, seen things I'd just as soon never again, and I know it wasn't the first time those things happened. But Harry didn't know what he'd done until just before Hogwarts, and that same year he found out he hadn't done as much as everyone thought he had. Talk about the weight of the world on your shoulders, you know?" Ron shrugged, not that Nigel could see it. "Hermione was always saying something about grand destinies leading to grand funerals, especially when Harry and me would go haring off on some mad mission together, but I really think it's just easier to say the it must suck to be the chosen one, you know?"

"Much easier," Nigel agreed with a short laugh. "You and Harry run off doing mad things often?" Nigel pulled one hand from behind his neck to rub at his eyes. What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? Ron was straight, and Nigel knew Harry and Ron were platonic friends, and yet all Nigel could think about was the two of them doing decidedly _un_ platonic things. Nigel pinched the bridge of his nose. He was becoming a bloody pervert, is what.

Ron laughed, although he couldn't help feeling a tight clenching in his gut at the note to Nigel's voice. "And sometimes we'd even go on missions, too," he said, memories of long nights and awkward fumblings with his best friend rising unbidden. Ron cleared his throat. "You know how young blokes can be," he added in a slightly rough voice, shifting slightly as his trousers seemed to tighten just slightly from even just those idle thoughts, not that the company might have had something to do with it. Not at all.

Nigel bent one knee and planted his foot flat in an attempt to hide the fact that yes, he knew _exactly_ how young blokes could be, and in fact had very vivid images of young blokes playing through his mind. He cleared his throat and deliberately tried to think of something else. Missions. Right. "What sort of missions? Ministry sanctioned, or were you working on your own?"

"On our own mostly," Ron said, grinning wryly. "At least at first, since the Ministry was too busy with their bleeding finger pointing to get much of anything accomplished once they took their heads out of their arses long enough to notice there might be a problem that needed fixing." Ron sighed and pulled one hand free, scratching his stomach through his t-shirt. "What about you?" he asked, looking to change the subject before Nigel got tired of hearing about Ron and the war, just like most everyone else did. "What did you get up to during the war?"

"I spent it in Egypt." Nigel watched Ron's hand as if mesmerised. "I, uh, did some intelligence work after Fudge stepped down, but mostly I just kept working for Gringotts. Maintaining security for the banks, things like that." Nigel had done a bit more than that, but even though Ron certainly would have the clearance to hear most if not all of what Nigel had done, Nigel was just as glad it was behind him, hoped he'd never have to do it again, and would just as soon not talk about it. Not that the alternative was any better, because Nigel just couldn't stop thinking about Ron, nude.

"Mmm..." Ron hummed, and snickered. "I'm sure it wasn't as boring as you make it sound," he teased, turning to Nigel with a lopsided grin.

Nigel managed a smile. "It never is, is it?" he said. "But it's over now, thank god. And Harry." Nigel's smile widened and unconsciously softened as his eyes drifted over Ron's face. "And you too. Somehow I suspect Harry wouldn't have won without you." Nigel's voice was low, the admiration he felt for Ron and his friends, all they'd done for wizardkind, clear in his words.

Ron blushed at the compliment and turned away, looking back up at the stars. "Thanks," he muttered. He squirmed with embarrassment for a moment, and then looked back at Nigel. What he saw, or what he thought he saw, was enough to make him pause. There was a heat, possibly, in Nigel's eyes, and it turned the discomfort in Ron's stomach into an entirely different sort of squirming sensation, and Ron felt frozen for a moment, tempted to lean in and see how right he was, and to see if he remembered right from his wild times.

With a cough, Ron actually pulled away and stood, "I think I'll head to bed now," he said, summoning up a yawn and stretching his long arms high over his head, shoulders popping lazily. Bed was better, safer. Bed didn't involve the very out of character things Ron was thinking about, even though it could pretty easily, a part of his mind pointed out. "G'night, Nigel," he added, knowing it was a bit sudden to go to bed now, in the middle of their conversation, but the tension in his stomach was only getting worse as he looked down at Nigel, and thanks to Ron's continuing dry spell, it was time to take matters into his own hands.

Nigel's mouth had gone completely dry as he watched Ron stretch above him. _Oh god._ He could only hope it was too dark for Ron to see his obvious reaction, knowing that most of what he could do to hide it would only draw attention. "Sleep well, Ron." Nigel swallowed before he spoke, but still his voice was rough.

Ron _felt_ Nigel's voice, and his own was a bit ragged about the edges as he responded with, "You too, Nigel," and then made his way into the tent as quickly as casual would allow, hands damn near shaking with anticipation as he locked the bathroom door behind him, stripped and got in the shower. _Fucking hell_ , he thought, biting his lip to hold back a moan while he stroked himself, the water not even really warm yet. "Fuck," he groaned, leaning back against the wall, hair wet and plastered to his skull, legs spread and pale, freckled skin flushed while he jerked off with hard, steady strokes, letting himself think, just for now, about those things that he was Not Thinking About.

As soon as Ron disappeared into the tent, Nigel opened his trousers and reached inside, pulling his cock free almost desperately. He spit into one hand and wrapped it around himself with a near-sob of relief. Nigel closed his eyes and pictured Ron stretching above him again, this time without clothes, his imagination filling in lean muscles covered in pale skin and freckles. He came much, much sooner than he should have, back arched as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Once he stopped shaking, Nigel rolled to one side and curled in on himself. He _liked_ Ron, dammit. He could see hints of Bill's humour in the kid, who was not, unfortunately, a kid at all. They could be good mates, if Nigel could only keep his trousers fastened.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel poked at the fire with a stick, coaxing it higher now they wanted warmth and light instead of merely heat for cooking. He eyed it critically, then sat back to watch, still close enough to poke it again if necessary but settled comfortably enough against a fallen log. Forcing his voice and expression into casual, vague curiousity _just small talk, not really interested_ he Did Not Look at Ron as he said, "Got a girl at home? Other than the best friend, I mean."

"Hmm?" Ron asked, blinking as he looked up from the fire. His mind had been miles away, thinking vague and only half-formed thoughts, so it didn't count under the Things I'm Not Thinking About category. Or so Ron told himself, because after the night before it was damn near impossible to deny the fact that Nigel was a bloody attractive bloke that even Ron found fit, even though Ron liked _women_ and on assignment was certainly not the time to have a crisis of sexuality. "Hermione? Oh, she and I were a thing on and off. And on and off again. But she's happier mothering me and I'm happier not getting nagged after sex." He looked over at Nigel and gave an artless grin.

"I can imagine," Nigel said dryly, giving in and letting himself look at Ron. "S'one thing about being queer. I don't think I've ever been nagged after sex." Nigel wondered almost morosely if he were becoming some sort of masochist, because he couldn't let it go even though Ron hadn't been paying attention. He asked again, "Is there a girl at home who doesn't nag? I mean, you do have a girl, yeah?"

Ron shook his head. "Nah, no girl," he said. "I broke up with the last one 'bout eight months ago. She wanted love and romance and flowers, and to be honest, I haven't the foggiest how to do that shite. But when she started talking about weddings and babies and all that, I got out of there. What about you, then? Got some bloke waiting on you at home, pining for you?" He winked at Nigel and covered his heart in mock dismay. From what Bill and Oliver had said and from what he'd seen of Nigel so far (and some of that seeing was burned into Ron's memories despite his Not Thinking About It policy), Nigel really didn't seem like the boyfriend-type.

"Yes," Nigel said solemnly. "Hundreds. They all pine for me." He poked the fire again though it didn't really need it, and laughed. "I expect more still pine for Bill than ever do for me, though."

"I'd rather not think of my brother as a sexual being, if it's all the same," Ron said, looking faintly ill at the thought. "It's bad enough I walked in on him with his hand in Oliver's trousers the once."

Nigel looked up at that, eyes wide. "You didn't," he said, and roared with laughter. "Surprised you've only done it once, actually," he continued, still laughing but a bit calmer now. "I don't think Bill can keep his hands off Oliver for more than, oh, thirty seconds at a time."

Ron scowled again, but then laughed at himself. "Yeah, well, I learnt to knock," he said, grinning at last, teeth bright in the firelight. "But at least they're happy together even after a decade," he added, voice sounding a bit wistful. "Sometimes I can't help wonder what it'd be like for me, but I haven't found the right girl yet. You know, the one that makes you go _I'm done fucking about_. Or, at least makes me say that, but you know what I mean, yeah?"

"Sure," Nigel said, still smirking, barely managing to stop laughing. He suspected he'd have had a much different reaction to seeing Bill's hand down Oliver pants than Ron had obviously had. Then he sighed, because he knew exactly what Ron meant. He hadn't wanted it when Bill and Oliver first settled down, and wasn't sure he was ready to give up clubs and random boys and the variety, but more often lately Nigel just felt old. And alone. And more frequently lonely, which wasn't at all the same thing. "Yeah," he said, a bit subdued, "I know."

"Someday, your prince will come, Nigel," Ron teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Nigel laughed again. "Oh, he comes. Several times. They always do." He grinned at Ron, leered comically, tucking the lonely away automatically.

"Good to know you're considerate," Ron said, shaking his head and smiling. He stood and moved over next to Nigel, sitting on the ground not quite close enough to bump shoulders, but so it was easier to talk. Besides, it was warmer like this, with the heat of another person beside him, echoing his own. The downside to it, though, was that Ron's stomach turned over at Nigel's nearness, and it took him a few seconds to relax properly, rotating his neck and shoulders, sighing as the muscles unclenched.

"Of course I'm considerate," Nigel said, tensing imperceptibly as Ron settled next to him. "I wouldn't be perfect otherwise, you know." He wanted to stand and go to the tent, get away from Ron before he did something stupid; he wanted to turn and grab Ron and do something stupid. He held perfectly still, knowing he couldn't jump up and move when Ron had just sat there next to him. It would be rude. "Um. Did you eat enough?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, m'good," he said, still grinning. "Perfect, huh? Yeah, you're Bill's mate for sure." He elbowed Nigel gently, most of his original discomfort gone at last, although it had left behind a sharp awareness of the other man, wicked and uncompromising. Oddly enough, it made Ron equally aware of himself, of his long legs and huge hands, and how close he was in proximity to Nigel and how a part of him (that had nothing to do with the rational knowledge that Nigel had entirely the wrong plumbing for his tastes) was _itching_ to move closer. He could feel a blush rising, and Ron rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling very warm indeed. "How about you? More delicious field rations for afters, perhaps?"

"What I really, _really_ want," Nigel said, longing clear in his voice, "is a steak. Thick and juicy and still pink on the inside. And a baked potato. Steamed veggies. And beer. Or a nice old malt. Or even some of Ollie's private stash of Scotch." Thinking about the food was just as painful in an entirely different way, and Nigel groaned, bringing his legs up and resting his forehead on his knees. "God. Sometimes I absolutely hate field rations."

"Honeydukes finest," Ron said, voice just as eager, eyes going half-mast as he could nearly taste the chocolate already. "Let it melt on my tongue like I did when I was a kid and we couldn't afford much more than a square or two for each of us kids. Fuck alcohol, give me chocolate." He laughed, turning to look at Nigel. "Reckon that maybe I spend too much time around girls?"

Nigel laughed hard. "Yeah, I think maybe you do. Do you get moody and downright bitchy once a month, too?"

"Only if I haven't gotten laid in a while," Ron said with a laugh. "But don't worry, my dry spell bitchy was a couple of weeks ago, so you should be safe."

"Good, I was a tad frightened for a minute there." Nigel smirked, but his traitorous mind made note -- _fuck alcohol, give me chocolate_ \-- and he bit his tongue to prevent himself from offering to end Ron's dry spell. Shaking his head at himself, Nigel linked his fingers, turned his hands out and stretched, palms open to the night sky, and forced a yawn. "My turn, I think. Hopefully I can sleep better tonight and we can make some progress tomorrow."

Ron looked up as Nigel stood, and had to swallow hard when his mouth went dry as he looked up the long, fit lines of Nigel's body. _This is not the time for this, Weasley._ "Night," he said, voice slightly strained but mostly controlled. "I'll be in in a while."

Nigel looked down at Ron with dark, shadowed eyes. "Good night, Ronald," he murmured, and went to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	3. Chapter 3

Day seven, and Nigel was ready to find the damn statue and go home, if only so he could have a long wank in peace and then _sleep_ instead of lying awake listening to his straight partner breathe. And snore. And shift under the light blankets. And mumble in his sleep. 

Nigel grumbled under his breath and put one foot in front of the other, rubbing absently at one eye - and its dark circle underneath - with two fingers. He was going to kill Bill when he got home. If Bill didn't kill him first for what he wanted to do to wee Ronnie, who just wasn't that wee any more. _Just keep walking, Nigel. You'll never find the statue if you don't find the vault._

Walking only a few steps behind Nigel wasn't where Ron wanted to be, not from a tactical standpoint, but Nigel was much better equipped to lead through the rough terrain. Even if he was getting more surly as the days went on. But then again, maybe he was just as frustrated as Ron with how slowly things seemed to be going. And, really, it didn't help that Ron couldn't seem to stop himself from letting his eyes travel up and down the strong, solid length of Nigel's back.

A noise up ahead caught Ron's attention, and he closed the gap between him and Nigel, hand curving over Nigel's shoulder. "Company," Ron murmured, pulling a pen out of his pocket and transfiguring it into a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses. "Show time, yeah?"

Nigel had been startled by Ron's touch, the muscles in his shoulder tensing under Ron's hand. "Er, yeah. Right." Nigel rolled his head, shrugged his shoulders, trying to relax and concentrate on the cover story Ron had concocted. Nigel had been mostly amused by the whole idea, but he'd listened carefully and agreed it should work. He hadn't actually thought they'd need to use it. "Bird watcher?" he asked, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, knowing full well Ron's cover was botany, with Nigel as his guide and guard.

"It's _botany_ , you great oaf," Ron said at a louder-than-normal volume, his voice petulant. "The study of plants is essential for understanding our impact on the world and the environment, and if mankind doesn't realise what all of the deforestation and pollution is robbing us of, it'll be too soon before your children are gasping for breath because there are no plants to scrub out filthy air. Why even the plants need us. Did you know it's been proven that talking to..."

Just then, a pair of dirty-looking white men, whipcord thin and each carrying minimal gear, came into view. They didn't look surprised to see Ron and Nigel, but then that in itself was no surprise, considering how loud Ron was being. Seeing them, Ron brightened and pushed his glasses up his nose, precisely like he'd seen Percy do hundreds of times.

"Look!" Ron said, enjoying himself a bit too much as he grabbed at Nigel's arm. "Fellow intrepid explorers!"

"Bit thick, kid," Nigel muttered before rolling his eyes at the men in front of them. "Don't mind him," Nigel said in a normal tone, "these science blokes always get a bit too involved, if you know what I mean." He freed his arm from Ron's grip and returned the favour, as it were, curling his fingers firmly around Ron's elbow to steer him forward and around the shifty-looking men in their path. "We're looking for some special _tree_ ," Nigel said with another eye roll, his tone saying more clearly than words that he thought it truly the dumbest idea he'd ever heard.

"Wait!" Ron pressed a hand to Nigel's broad chest, stopping him in his tracks. Unfortunately, the contact also sent a frisson of awareness up Ron's arm and back down his spine, pooling in his gut and making it hard to breathe as he turned back around to face the strangers, to try for information to speed the mission along. They might not be competition, but either way, there might be information to gain, since they were going the other direction. Composed enough, Ron hoped, he gave the other men a brilliant smile. "We're looking for a _tree_!" he said loudly, as though the newcomers were hard of hearing. "It's got large red phylum and blue splines! Have you seen it?"

The strangers just stood there for a long moment, looking at Ron like he was utterly 'round the twist, before shaking their heads. "No," the taller of the two said, sniffing loudly before spitting rather near Ron's feet. "Just normal trees and a bunch of hills. Not even any natives," he added, his flat American accent even more out of place in the forest than the people were to begin with.

"Oh," Ron said, doing his best to look dejected. Hills could mean caves. Buried things. Vaults. Hidden statues, if they were exceptionally lucky. "Pity, that."

It felt as though Ron's hand were well on the way to burning through Nigel's shirt and into his chest. "They haven't seen it," Nigel said almost hoarsely, fighting to pay attention to the possible danger in front of them instead of the need coiling sharply in his gut. "Let's leave them alone, yeah? We'll never find your tree if you stop to bother everyone we pass."

Ron couldn't seem to make himself move his hand. "You say that like we've been running into half the bloody country out here. And, honestly, you never know what you'll learn if you take the time to talk to a chap," he finally said, rolling his eyes and fisting his hand in Nigel's shirt. "Well, come along, then," he said, tugging. "We're losing daylight, and I'll not come back empty-handed, you know." He turned to the Americans and rolled his eyes as though to say _it's just impossible to find good help these days_.

"You're the one who stopped to talk to them, kid, not me." Nigel let Ron pull him into motion, grabbing Ron's arm again as he passed and taking charge, pulling him a bit harder and faster than necessary along the trail and away from the other men. He kept pulling Ron long after they'd moved well beyond sight and earshot, a hand-shaped spot still burning over the centre of his chest. Finally sure he could control himself, Nigel stopped and turned to face Ron, and almost heard his control snap. Ron was grinning broadly, so goddamn pleased with himself Nigel could nearly taste it, and Nigel knew he had to.

"Sorry," Nigel said roughly, moving in, grabbing Ron's waist with one hand and cupping his face with the other. "I'll Obliviate you if you want after, but I just - I need..." Nigel swallowed. "Just one. I have to taste." And with that, Nigel pressed his lips to Ron's, his tongue sliding into Ron's mouth with a soft sound of relief and pleasure.

Shocked, Ron froze for a moment when Nigel's mouth first touched his. Primal instinct kicked in before anything else, though, and before Ron could even think of doing it, he was cupping the back of Nigel's neck and sucking on his tongue, groaning softly. So what if it was another man, Ron's libido wanted to know. Nigel's kiss was making Ron's toes curl, and Ron was definitely not the curled toe sort. Ron wasn't even the man-kissing sort, come to think of it. Not that it mattered much to Ron's mind just now, because all he cared about was the rasp of Nigel's tongue over his own and the way their bodies were pressed together, shoulder to groin as they kissed.

Nigel moaned and pulled Ron closer, kissed him harder, and god, it was so good. Ron tasted _right_ , in a way Nigel couldn't explain, even to himself. "Ron," he gasped, "god. _Ron_." Nigel eased into small sipping kisses, half a dozen light brushes before diving back in. _He's straight_ , Nigel's brain tried to say, but Ron was kissing him back and Nigel's cock was drowning out the logic and taking control. His hand tugged at Ron's shirt and pushed up under it, fingers sliding eagerly over warm skin.

Ron gasped at the sudden skin-to-skin contact, Nigel's touch enough to make him stagger backwards. It was just fingers on skin, but Ron found his knees had gone weak all of a sudden, and even though he broke off kissing, he couldn't seem to make himself let go of Nigel. "Fuck," he breathed, head falling to Nigel's shoulder and lips grazing his neck as he spoke. He hadn't felt even close to this stupid from just kissing in years, and Ron didn't know what to make of it other than a faint reminder from his brain that he liked women. "Goddamn."

"I know," Nigel murmured, turning to press his lips to Ron's cheek. "Please, I - again." Nigel used his thumb to lift Ron's chin, tilting his own head to kiss Ron slowly. Having tasted him once, the hard edge of need had eased just a bit, enough that Nigel could savour Ron's mouth this time.

Actually _whimpering_ , Ron opened his mouth again, ignoring his brain's clamouring that this was all sorts of wrong. Women never kissed this thoroughly, this deeply, but Nigel did, and _god_ but it was good. Ron moaned finally, a broken sound, and pulled Nigel closer, not really understanding where the need was coming from, but still wrapped up in it, anyhow.

Nigel's hand worked rhythmically at Ron's hip, squeezing and releasing slowly as they kissed. Every thought in Nigel's head was gone, lost in the surge of pleasure that came with Ron's response. This was quite possibly the best kiss Nigel had ever had and he didn't want it to ever end. But he wanted more. Needed more. Nigel's hand moved from Ron's hip and pushed into the back of his jeans to cup his arse, fingers sliding just barely into the crease between his cheeks.

That was what brought Ron back to himself, the feeling of being touched like _that_ , and he stumbled back, out of Nigel's arms. Ron's eyes were wide and his hand was shaking as he lifted it, hesitated, and then raked his fingers through his hair. He could have wiped his mouth, should have, even if only to prove the point that he didn't like snogging blokes, but he didn't want to lose the feel of Nigel's mouth just yet. This, Ron thought as he struggled to control his breathing, was not good _at all_.

"I..." Ron tried, but really had no idea what he wanted to say.

Nigel held up his hand, palm out, struggling to breathe at all. He _needed_ , more than he could ever remember needing before, and more than that, he needed _Ron_. Or maybe, he thought almost frantically, it was just that he hadn't had sex in awhile, and he was fixating on a man he couldn't have because they were stuck in the wilds alone together. Surely that was all it was. Nigel deliberately ignored the small voice in the back of his mind as it mocked his rationalisations. It sounded like Bill.

"Twenty minutes," Nigel finally said, voice so rough he nearly choked on it. "Stay here." He turned and stalked off into the trees, limping just slightly, hands moving to open his jeans even as he walked. There was no way he could keep walking the trail, looking for the vault, with this erection painfully pushing at his denims. He had to take care of it, and then he had to figure out how to salvage the job, find the statue, and then find a new flat where Bill couldn't find _him_.

Ron waited all of thirty seconds before following after Nigel. As much as the bloke deserved privacy, Ron wouldn't be able to watch out for him if he was off God knew where. He'd follow, Ron promised himself, but he'd keep his back turned. It was the least he could do...

Of course, when Ron did catch up with Nigel, all of those well-meaning justifications went right out the metaphorical window.

Nigel hadn't bothered to even drop his jeans, merely pulling his cock free as soon as he judged himself far enough into the trees to be truly alone. He leaned back against a tree, legs spread and braced, his hand pumping steadily. His mind worked just as steadily, presenting image after image it had collected of Ron over the last seven days. _You're so fucked_ , Bill's voice taunted. "I know," Nigel murmured out loud. He swallowed hard and pumped faster, his head pushing back into the tree trunk, small needy sounds spilling from his throat.

Mouth gone dry instantly, Ron palmed himself through his jeans, the heel of his hand pressing against his hot prick, straining against the denim. Biting back a needy sound of his own, Ron gave in at last and unzipped his flies, reached in and started stroking himself in time to Nigel's movements. There was something so indescribably _hot_ about this, about knowing that Nigel needed this so badly because of _Ron_ , because of their kiss. Ron hadn't touched another bloke like that in years, hadn't really wanted to, but it was taking everything he had to keep from stepping out into the open where Nigel could see him, from begging for more when Ron wasn't really sure what that would mean or if he really wanted it. But still, Ron wanted to try. Groaning, eyes barely open more than slits, but still open enough so he could keep watching, Ron let himself go as much as he dared.

Hand still working, Nigel's eyes flew open when he heard a distinctly male groan. Ron was just _there_ , just beyond a couple of trees, and it was just simply too much. "I told you," Nigel growled, moving faster than he thought he should have been able to with his cock bobbing in his open flies, "to _stay there_." Nigel dropped to his knees at Ron's feet, shoving those long freckled fingers out of his way, and took Ron's cock into his mouth with a harsh groan.

With a ragged cry, Ron threw his head back, hands flailing until he found a tree trunk behind him. He held on, trying to anchor himself, but it was a lost cause. Nigel's mouth was hot and wet and around Ron's _cock_ and it had been eight months since _anyone_ had done that. And it was Nigel, with his square jaw and his knowing grin, his broad chest that was made for dripping water and his long back that made hands itch for wanting to touch even when he was dressed. It was Nigel sucking Ron's cock with the same lips he'd just been kissing Ron with, and all Ron could do was stand there and writhe, hands now buried in Nigel's hair as he gave in and stopped caring entirely. "Oh, _fucking_ hell," Ron groaned, and thrust into Nigel's mouth, moaning desperately. "Nigel..."

Nigel relaxed his jaw and let Ron fuck his mouth, let Ron do the work, one hand curling around Ron's hip encouragingly, the other dropping to stroke his own cock. _Ron_ , he thought, and moaned around the thick flesh stroking over his tongue. Ron tasted right here, too, a stronger and darker flavour but still perfect, and Nigel's next moan had a vaguely desperate edge. Bill might just laugh himself to death before killing Nigel. _Damn._

Whimpering, Ron thrust steadily, in and out of Nigel's mouth, fingers knotting in Nigel's hair. "Close," he gasped, too close to even be bothered by how quickly he was coming. "So close... I'm gonna..."

 _Come._ Nigel closed his lips around Ron's cock as best he could, sucking as Ron pulled back, relaxing to let him thrust back in, saliva pooling under his tongue. He suddenly wanted to swallow Ron's come more than he wanted his next breath. He put his hand into the back of Ron's jeans again, his middle finger stroking between Ron's cheeks.

"Fuck!" Ron cried out, arse tensing as he forced himself to let go of Nigel's hair, arched forward and came, groaning raggedly as Nigel sucked him dry. " _God_!"

Nigel swallowed convulsively, both hands at Ron's hips to hold him steady now, guiding him to lean back against the tree behind him as he shuddered. After Ron was done but still shaking, Nigel slowly licked him clean, nuzzling at the wiry red curls and wrinkled skin of his balls before pulling away. He stood in one movement, his own cock still bobbing and even harder than before, the flesh a dark angry red. "Maybe next time when I ask for twenty fucking minutes, you'll let me alone. I am an adult, you know, and have been watching out for myself for more than thirty years."

Turning, Nigel stalked away, moving further into the trees. He was unaccountably angry - with Ron, with himself, with his fucking stupid cock that suddenly seemed beyond his control. They had to get this statue, had to be a team, and how on earth were they to manage that now? To say nothing of the repercussions when they got home.

And he could still taste Ron, was still achingly hard and wanted desperately to bend Ron over and fuck him blind. Nigel stopped and braced his arm against a tree, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Wrapping one hand around his cock again, Nigel dragged in a breath that smelled and tasted of Ron, nearly sobbing it back out as he dragged his hand roughly over himself. It didn't take much at all for Nigel to fall over the edge. He came so hard he felt dizzy, and stayed with his nose pressed into his arm for several minutes after as he tried to pull himself together. This wasn't like him, and he didn't know what the problem was or how to deal with it, especially _now_ , on _this_ job.

Nigel wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but it was long after he'd stopped gulping for air, his heart having long since stopped galloping. Finally he couldn't stall any longer, and he pushed away from the tree and tucked himself back into his jeans before taking a deep breath and heading back to the trail and Ron. Who was in the small clearing exactly where Nigel had left him. Nigel snorted a soft laugh; finally Ron had done what he'd been told, and it was too bad he hadn't in the first place.

Nigel didn't stop, just said, "Let's go," as he passed the tree where he'd made his latest, possibly worst, phenomenally stupid mistake.

Ron stayed where he was, rooted to the spot. When Nigel had stalked off, Ron had still been too addled to think or react, but soon enough his mind had started working again, turning and whirling. He'd always thought of himself as straight, even during those confused couple of years when he'd found himself trying things with other blokes, touching and kissing and losing control. Then, it had been only about the orgasm, about relieving the stress of war and knowing he could die at any moment. But things were different now, Ron realised, and no matter how potentially dangerous this job was, what had just happened had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with _Nigel_.

"Nigel," he said at last, voice tired but still carrying across the clearing to his partner, who seemed bound and determined to either hate or ignore Ron just now. It would probably be for the best if they did ignore things, at least for now, but Ron was still confused and wrong-footed too much to do what he knew he ought to.

"No." Nigel stopped and turned, pinning Ron with a hard look that didn't soften no matter how much his heart did at the sight of Ron all hunched over, shoulders rounded and nearly at his ears, hands jammed into his pockets. Nigel wanted to go take Ron into his arms, wanted just to hold him. Instead he took a slow breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. "No," he said again, voice a bit softer, the hard edge gone from his voice if not his eyes. "Not right now, yeah? We've got to find that -" he hesitated, aware that the forest could hide so many things. "Find the tree," he finished.

Unable to suppress his recoil from the look on Nigel's face, it took Ron a moment to collect himself, to force his shoulders to relax. "Right then," he said at last, pulling his fake glasses out and sliding them up his long nose. When had he taken them off, anyhow? "Job first." He cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly unable to meet Nigel's eyes any longer. "I reckon if we want to keep from running into people, we might want to leave the trail. Can you get us there without it?"

"As soon as we figure out where there is," Nigel said dryly. "Let's find our gear and go over the -" _clues_ "- papers again. I must just be missing something, it's got to be there..." Nigel's voice trailed off as he started thinking about the vault, about what their sources said and what they carefully _didn't_ say, and just like that he was gone, his mind lost to the job again the way he used to do before Ron started taking up so much space in his head. He sent Ron a brilliant smile, full of excitement over their puzzle, and wandered off toward the trail, brain working.

Something low in Ron's gut clenched at that smile, and he shook his head in confusion. Nigel had a terrific smile, and Ron caught himself fighting off a responding one as though nothing had happened. He'd been sure Nigel would only talk to him when he had to, that he was just that hacked off at Ron for following him. Especially after that hard look only moments before. Shrugging helplessly at Nigel's turned back, Ron finally started moving, trailing after him yet again.

After gathering their meagre supplies together, they kept moving, going parallel to the trail but staying in the trees. They were louder, but it couldn't be helped; they just moved as silently as possible. Nigel was distracted and kept stumbling. His mind was working furiously but not coming up with any new answers. Really, he needed to study again, because whatever clues he'd missed before were just not in his head. And god, he was tired. Shooting a sideways look at Ron, Nigel rubbed a hand over his face. He'd better just get used to being tired for now, because he didn't think he'd be able to sleep tonight any better than he had last night. And he should talk to Ron about... yeah.

"Let's make camp. It won't be dark for a couple hours, I know, but I just have no idea. I need to read through my stuff again." Nigel bit back a yawn, and laughed shortly. "And maybe catch a nap before we eat."

Ron nearly jumped when Nigel spoke to him, his senses already stretched thin so he could hear any change in the world around them. "Yeah," he said quietly. "All right then." He wasn't looking forward to setting up camp, to be honest; when they were walking, chatter wasn't on the order, but with hours and hours filled with nothing much else but opportunities to talk, the night was not looking very good. Nigel would probably yell at him -- and rightly so -- for invading his privacy earlier. And then, most likely, he'd tell Ron he didn't want to fuck around with his best mate's baby brother, and that would be that. Ron could go back to being straight again. "How about over there?" he suggested, pointing to what looked like a fair-sized clearing. His eyes seemed locked to a small patch of skin just above Nigel's collar, and Ron actually caught himself licking his lips. "For the tent, I mean."

Nigel squinted in the direction Ron pointed and shrugged. "Yeah, looks good." He turned to the clearing, moving quickly to set things up once they got there. He had to sleep, just for a few minutes, or else instead of apologising to Ron he'd jump the kid again and there would just be no hope for the mission at all. He'd never had trouble separating work and sex before, not even when sharing a tent with Bill, who was one of the sexiest men he'd ever worked with. He didn't know what it was about Ron. He just had no control with this kid.

After the tent was up, Nigel gave Ron an apologetic smile. "I have to sleep a bit, I'm sorry. If I'm not up in an hour, though, wake me, yeah? I need to figure out where we're actually going so we can stop wandering the jungle and get to the vault." With that, Nigel disappeared into the tent, crawling into his cot with a groan. They might have to start sleeping in shifts; after tasting Ron, there was simply no way Nigel would be able to sleep next to him without reaching out to touch again.

Ron puttered around, boiling water to kill parasites and mixing some with the dried oats they'd brought. It wasn't treacle, but it was food and with extra nutrients added to it, it had been keeping them alive and healthy for a week now. Ron ate his portion, doused the fire, and brought Nigel's bowl into the tent, intending to wake the other man.

Sprawled out on his back, arms and legs akimbo, Nigel looked so comfortable that it made Ron jealous. Briefly, he wondered if the other man hadn't snuck a better cot into the tent before they left, but then Ron remembered how tired Nigel had been the past couple of days, how he'd been tossing and turning at nights. _He's so peaceful because I'm not in here_. Sighing, he set Nigel's bowl of food on his own cot and went to the loo. He needed a shower anyhow, so he might as well let Nigel sleep a while longer.

At some point, Ron realised during his shower that he was doing something that was making the job worse, something that was distracting Nigel. The problem was, Ron had no idea what it was about him that was doing it. Was he giving off some sort of gay pheromone? Maybe the way he walked was the international sign for "please fuck me," like both hands around your neck meant you were choking. It's not as though Ron was doing it on _purpose_ , but at the same time, he couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed the results so far.

 _You are so fucked up, mate_ , the voice in his head helpfully supplied as Ron toweled off after his shower. Ron, having known this for quite some time, merely gave the voice, which sounded just like Harry, a mental pair of fingers. If the voice couldn't be helpful and tell him how to make the rest of this job easier for him and Nigel, then the voice really ought to just shut up. Half-hoping that Nigel would have woken on his own, Ron pulled on a pair of loose cargo pants and stepped out of the loo, only to see that Nigel hadn't budged so much as an inch.

Part of Ron knew that what he really ought to do was just throw his damp towel from across the tent, and keep a safe distance away. After all that had happened, Ron would have been stupid to think Nigel wouldn't try to grab him again, like he did that first day back in London. But, nevertheless, Ron found himself leaning over Nigel, stance loose as he shook the other man's shoulder. "Nigel," he said quietly. "Nigel, the loo's yours if you want it."

The sounds of Ron's shower had pulled Nigel enough out of sleep that he wasn't startled to feel Ron's hand on his shoulder. He reluctantly let himself wake completely and opened his eyes, gut clenching in reaction to Ron's face _right there_. "Thanks," Nigel murmured with an inward sigh. Really, he should be accustomed to the surge of need he felt every time he let himself look into Ron's eyes.

Nigel wanted nothing more than to reach up and pull Ron down into another kiss, to explore the freckled body he'd had so many glimpses of. Instead he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood. He forced himself to walk away from his best mate's baby brother. No, that mantra wasn't working at all, especially not when said baby brother was in a tight white t-shirt, damp from having been put on before its wearer was completely dry.

Nigel's shower was at least twice as long as he'd intended, but he couldn't help that. And it still wasn't nearly as satisfying as sucking Ron off had been.

Mostly dry and dressed, Nigel moved back into the bedroom of the tent to see Ron sitting on his own cot, holding a bowl of what passed for food in the field. "Thanks," he said again, sitting on the opposite cot and taking the bowl from Ron's outstretched hand. Nigel ate quickly, waiting until he was nearly done in spite of the growing tension in their silence before speaking without looking up from his bowl. "I can only apologise again," he said quietly. "You didn't take this job to be attacked. We both know that I know you're straight. I honestly don't know what my problem is, and Bill will certainly laugh his arse off before he kills me." Nigel's lips quirked, but he still didn't look up. "I won't blame you in the slightest if you'd rather leave. I can probably find the vault myself and get the statue back to England, and I'll tell Bill and Shacklebolt anything you want me to. They don't have to know you weren't with me all the time."

Ron sneered at the idea of walking out on a job. "I finish my assignments, thanks ever so," he said, straightening his shoulders. Then, as Ron realised that Nigel seemed to think that he was terrified of Nigel, Ron huffed, building up a good head of steam for what he hoped would be a good, solid argument that would make all this confusion go away. "And while I might have only ever had _sex_ with women, I'm not some shrinking virgin that needs protecting, either. It's none of Bill's bloody business who I fool around with, and if it were, there would be a good handful of blokes that wouldn't have seen the end of the war, including the Boy Who Bloody Well Lived!" He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, red spots forming high on his cheeks as he paced in the small confines of the tent.

Stopping right in front of Nigel, Ron leant over, face only inches from his. "Thank you for your apology," he said in a rough voice, poking Nigel in the shoulder. "Now stop treating me like I'm made of fucking glass. I've seen shite that's _still_ giving me nightmares, so a few mind-blowing kisses and a blow job aren't going to fucking scare me." Ron growled and threw his hands up in frustration, not even sure himself what he was trying to say. He needed to think, needed to get a handle on himself. He just didn't know how.

"That's not what I meant," Nigel said, standing up and forcing Ron to step back. "I know you're the big bad Auror, and Bill's so fucking proud of you for it, too. You asked in London if I fuck all my work partners, and I _don't_. When I work, I'm working. But I just can't keep my hands off you." Nigel was the one to step back this time, hands clenching into fists to keep from grabbing. His voice dropped. "I can't guarantee I won't attack you again, don't you see? _You aren't safe from me._ "

"I think I can take care of myself," Ron said, though his stomach flip-flopped at Nigel's words, at the note of pure, dark promise in his voice. "Do you honestly think you can keep me down if I want up?" he added, arching a ginger-coloured eyebrow defiantly. _Do you think I would have let you already if I didn't want it?_

God. Nigel ran a hand through his hair and turned away to pace. "This isn't a fucking _pissing_ contest," he growled. "This isn't about how strong you are. I don't know what's wrong with me, and this is the worst job possible for this to happen on. I have _got_ to find that bloody statue, and I can't think for wanting your cock in my mouth again." He stopped and shot Ron another hard look, an echo of the one he'd worn in the forest. "Or my cock in your arse. Fooling around with your schoolmates isn't at all the same thing, Ron."

Nigel slumped and ran his hands over his face again. "It's Bill's business this time, Ron. He's my best friend, he's trusted me with your life, and I might get us killed because I can't keep my mind out of your pants."

For a minute, Ron just gaped at Nigel, mouth hanging open unattractively. "Are you really that stupid?" he asked at last, voice rising a higher than it needed to. " _I'm_ the one who's supposed to keep us alive. That's why Oliver wouldn't let Bill go, because he knew the pair of you would get wrapped up in your little mystery and wouldn't notice danger until it fucking killed you. It's my job to look out for the bad guys, Nigel, not to be your bloody damsel in distress. I've killed men to save others, and Bill knows I'd do it again in a heartbeat to save you. So fine, play the fucking martyr all you want, but don't mistake that you're supposed to take care of me, because it's fucking insulting, is what it is."

Nigel stared at Ron incredulously. "And there's the other problem right there," he said quietly. "You're such a child. Even after all you've seen and all you've done, you're still a child." Shaking his head, Nigel walked to Ron, stopping in front of the younger man. "You aren't my bodyguard, Ron. You may not be a cursebreaker, but this is still supposed to be a team effort. As in, we take care of each other, and we both work our _little mystery_." He poked Ron in the chest. "Grow. Up."

Ron blinked incredulously at Nigel for several long seconds. "Fuck. You," he finally said after trying to gather his thoughts. "Part of being a team is trusting the other person to be able to take care of himself, otherwise, you'd be so focused on each other you'd never notice the trouble." Growling in frustration, Ron pushed past Nigel and headed for the tent door. "Now, if you don't think I'll be in danger of getting fucked or killed out there, I'm going to go do childish things like set up proximity wards."

Nigel watched him storm out and sighed. "Well," he said to the empty tent, "that went well. Fuck." Nigel sat heavily on his cot. He'd need to apologise to Ron again, he supposed, but as Ron seemed determined to take it all as a personal insult, maybe Nigel should let it alone and hope Ron's snit kept him safe from being raped by his "partner". Nigel reached for his satchel and dug for the lone medical text he'd brought, enlarging it so it was readable. Maybe he'd eaten something bad, or been bit by a bug, and that was why he was so fucking randy. But it had to stop, whatever it was, so he could _think_ long enough to find the damn statue and get them out of here, back to London where Ron was safe and out of reach.

He refused to consider the reasons why the thought of Ron out of reach made his stomach clench and his heart turn over.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	4. Chapter 4

That night, long after they'd turned out the lights to supposedly go to sleep, Ron found himself just lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. They'd scarcely said three words to each other all night, both determined to just read through Nigel's notes and avoid their argument entirely if at all possible. Of course, that meant that it was all Ron could really think about.

He understood that Nigel was worried about fucking up the job, because sex could be the worst sort of distraction. And he understood, also, that it had to be just as confusing for Nigel as it was for Ron, since they both knew Ron was straight. Although, in light of recent events, Ron was fairly sure he needed to rethink that particular self-label. Especially since all he could think about as he stared at the ceiling was closing the small space between their cots and begging Nigel to touch him again. Groaning, Ron closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, kicking off his blanket, leaving his body bare except for the pale blue boxers he wore.

"Goddammit." Nigel couldn't sleep at all, and the sound of Ron's groan was just the final straw. He cursed again, just as quietly as before, and got up to go take _another_ shower. It was either that or waking Ron with a hard, desperate kiss. He hadn't found anything in his book that could explain his problem, and the tension that had grown between them all evening was nearly all sexual.

Ron opened his eyes at the sound of Nigel's voice, and damn near stopped breathing at the sight of Nigel standing so close to him, wearing nothing but a pair of snug gray boxers that did nothing to hide his large, solid body. "Fucking hell," Ron muttered, and gave into impulse and confusion, his control breaking with a nearly audible sound.

Lunging, Ron tackled Nigel, pushing him back onto his cot and pinning him down. "I've got to," he breathed, and then covered Nigel's mouth with his own, pushing his tongue between disturbingly tempting lips as he straddled Nigel's stomach, clumsy and unsure how this was supposed to work. With one hand cupping the side of the older man's face, Ron groaned as he kissed harder, more desperately than before, trying to get as much as possible before Nigel kicked him out of bed and called him a child again.

Nigel grabbed Ron securely and pushed up, flipping them over and pinning Ron down. "What the fuck are you doing?" he whispered harshly, his hips twitching involuntarily. He groaned and his head fell forward as the movement rubbed his painfully hard erection against Ron's stomach. He was holding on to his control by the thinnest of threads and was literally afraid to move again.

"Kiss me," Ron panted, eyes wild as he squirmed under Nigel, freeing his hands and sliding them over a tense back. "Touch me. _Please_ , Nigel, I can't take it anymore." He knew he was playing with fire, knew this could blow up in his face, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "The wards..." he tried to explain that they'd be warned if anyone came near, but Ron couldn't seem to muster enough coherency for that. "Please," he finally said on a low groan, trying to pull Nigel closer, arching up to get more contact between them. "Please, Nigel."

Nigel couldn't take it any more either. He was sure Ron had no idea what he was asking for, but was just as sure he was going to get it. Shifting, Nigel settled between Ron's legs, the drag of his body over Ron's drawing another harsh sound from his throat. "Remember you asked for it," Nigel said desperately, and bent to take Ron's mouth in kiss after hard, thorough kiss.

Ron moaned into Nigel's mouth, curling his leg around one of Nigel's as he lifted his hips. Their cocks lined up perfectly, rubbing through the thin cotton, and this time Ron actually whimpered. "Remember I _want_ it," he said, air shuddering in his lungs when they broke apart for air. Pushing up, Ron flipped them back over again, and wasted no time diving back into Nigel's mouth as he rocked over him again and again. "Want you," he gasped, not even aware that he was speaking. "Oh god, want you."

Nigel was reeling, pleasure screaming through him as Ron kissed him, as they moved together. _Just kissing_ , he thought wildly, and wondered if he'd survive the push into Ron's body. "Have me," Nigel growled, flipping them again, holding Ron down with a dark laugh as the younger man struggled under his weight. Nigel bent and bit Ron's shoulder, then the fleshy curve of his chest. "We need a bigger bed," Nigel said absently against freckled skin, and then licked slowly across Ron's body until he found the small bump of one nipple, humming softly as it rasped and budded against his tongue. He licked it again.

" _Fuck_ ," Ron groaned back arching submissively, body begging for more. His hands flailed, finding nothing but air, because Nigel was right, and the cot really was much too small for this; it was a miracle they hadn't rolled off already. Concentrating as much as he could, Ron Summoned his own cot across the narrow space, doubling their bed area. Deciding that deserved a reward, Ron tugged on Nigel's hair, lifting his head. "Kiss me," he demanded, licking his lips quickly. "Wanna taste..."

"Mmmhmm." Nigel let Ron tug him back up, biting lightly at Ron's chin before pressing their mouths together. "Anything you want," Nigel breathed into Ron's mouth, chasing the words with his tongue so he could taste Ron too. He'd transfigure the cots into a big bed in just a minute, he just - he had to taste, had to touch, had to get enough to ease the hard edge of need he'd been fighting for days. Nigel's hands slid hard and slow over Ron's chest, pressing in a bit, squeezing as they moved ever lower. His fingers finally brushed the waistband of Ron's cotton pants and he hesitated before leaving his hands where they were.

Impatient, and so hard he couldn't think at all, Ron reached down between them and cupped Nigel through his soft boxers, squeezing him. But that wasn't enough, so Ron squirmed again, pushing down both of their boxers and freeing their cocks. "Need..." he growled, palming their hard lengths together and stroking them. The feel of Nigel, so hard and just as desperate as Ron, right _there_ and rubbing so deliciously against him, made Ron shudder and moan, squeezing them together more firmly.

Nigel's eyes rolled and he couldn't breathe. God, that was good. And it was going to be over all too soon if Ron did that again. After he finally dragged air into his lungs, Nigel carefully freed himself from Ron's hand, holding it tightly as he fought for concentration and control. "Wait," Nigel said roughly, "just a - wait a second." With a focus he hadn't known he was capable of, Nigel managed to transfigure the cot under them, the mattress spilling across the floor to nudge either side of the tent.

Ron whinged, hands moving all over every bit of Nigel he could reach. He felt like he was about to burst out of his skin, like he was going to explode if he didn't get what he needed. Only he didn't really know what that was. "Nigel," he panted, arching up and rubbing their cocks together again. "Nigel, please. I don't... I don't know..."

"I know," Nigel crooned, "shh." He nuzzled at Ron's neck, kissing behind his ear. "You aren't ready," he breathed. "Will you trust me?"

"Yes," Ron panted without hesitation, fingers digging into the firm, round muscles of Nigel's arse. " _Yes_ , I trust you."

Nigel laughed softly. "Roll over, then," he said, pulling away just enough that Ron would be able to move under him.

Swallowing heavily, eyes wide, Ron obeyed, only taking enough time to completely remove his boxers before rolling over. Ron glanced back over his shoulder once before pulling his knees up under his body, canting his hips up invitingly as he bit his lower lip nervously. "Like this?" he asked, voice breathy with anticipation despite his nerves. Ron had never been fucked before, never fucked another bloke, either, but he knew how it worked. He could only hope he'd do it right, because he wanted it so badly just now he could barely see.

Now it was Nigel swallowing hard as he sat back and reached out, unable to keep from touching the curve of Ron's arse. "Relax," Nigel managed to say dryly. "This won't kill you." He hoped. "Especially since you aren't ready, and I'm not fucking you yet."

"Please," Ron moaned, pushing back, wanting to feel Nigel's touch again. "Please, please touch me." Hands fisting in the sheets, Ron tried to force himself to relax, but his entire body was thrumming with need, his stomach was fluttering madly, and Ron didn't know how he was going to last much longer.

"I will." Nigel reached out with both hands this time, stroking rounded curves, squeezing, pushing Ron's cheeks apart. He murmured a charm that cleaned Ron and would hopefully relax him a bit, then leaned forward and licked slowly over the small wrinkled hole he would soon push his cock into.

Ron scrambled, almost pulling away. No one had ever... but it was so... and at the same time... He couldn't think, everything was a jumble in his head, so Ron only moaned and shuddered. "What... what are..."

"You said you trust me," Nigel said smugly. "Hold still." Nigel's hands tightened on Ron's hips, holding him right where he wanted him, so he could lick Ron again and again. And again, the taste here darker yet and still _right_. The thought that no one else would ever taste good again ran though Nigel's head, and he firmed his tongue to push it inside Ron to distract himself.

Crying out, Ron bit the sheets to muffle his voice. There was _no way_ it was supposed to feel this good, he was sure, because they hadn't even started fucking properly yet and he was already more out of control than he'd ever been before. Every bit of him was centred around Nigel's tongue _in_ his arse, and Ron was gone, lost, willing to do anything and everything to get more of this. "You..." he panted, blaming Nigel entirely. "You make me feel so... _fuck_ , more, Nigel. Please!"

Nigel pushed his tongue further in, withdrew, pushed again, fucking Ron with his tongue, lost in the taste and the sounds Ron was making. He reached in with one hand and pushed his thumb into Ron's body, curling it, tugging, shoving his tongue in alongside. "You aren't ready," Nigel said roughly, then shoved his tongue in again.

Ron growled, reaching back to grab at Nigel. "Then _get_ me ready," he demanded, need and desire completely over-riding the nerves he probably ought to have been feeling. " _Want you to fuck me_."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Nigel said, exasperated. "Pushy Weasley bottoms, you lot." He murmured another charm that slicked Ron inside, and pushed two fingers in roughly. He curled his body over Ron's, fingers working steadily in and out of Ron's arse. "I'm going to fuck you, Ron," Nigel purred into his ear. "Long and hard, I'll fuck you."

All Ron could do was gasp and nod, the feel of Nigel's fingers in his arse already huge, already all he was sure he could handle. What if he wasn't built for bottoming? What if it didn't fit? What if, no matter how Nigel stretched him, it still hurt? Worry started to take root, and panic wasn't that far behind when Nigel's fingers brushed against his prostate, and Ron's world exploded in a shower of hot, amazing sparks. "Holy fucking _god_ ," he whimpered, clenching around Nigel's fingers and then relaxing, wanting to feel more. "Do that again!"

Nigel did, laughing smugly as Ron shuddered and clenched around him. He worked in a third finger and bit Ron's shoulder. "I'll make you feel so good," Nigel crooned. "Oh god, I want you so much. All week, it's been driving me mad to have you so close and not be able to touch you, kiss you, feel you under me." Nigel started trailing kisses down Ron's spine as he talked. "I can't wait to put my cock where my fingers are. I want to feel you all around me, squeezing me so tight I can't breathe."

Mouth open, panting loudly, Ron could only shake desperately, hands working the bedding. God help him, but he wanted that, too. Wanted to feel more of Nigel inside, wanted to be filled, fucked, _claimed_. Back curving, Ron tried to feel more of Nigel's skin against his, the slip and slide of a strong, solid body who completely controlled everything right then, and Ron was glad for it. Glad to hand it over in a way that he'd never really been able to surrender to another person before.

"Please," he whispered, lips barely moving as he begged. "Take it. Take it."

"God, _Ron_ ," Nigel groaned. He hoped the kid was ready, because he couldn't hold back any more. Not with the way Ron was responding and the way he himself had been so desperate all week. Nigel pulled his fingers free and rolled Ron over, moving between Ron's legs and hooking them over his shoulders. He leaned in to press his mouth to Ron's quickly, not lingering like he wanted to, because it nearly bent Ron in half just to steal that small kiss. Besides, Nigel had to get his cock in Ron now. "Breathe," he said to Ron, to himself. He muttered a charm to slick himself, and then positioned himself and started to push. "Breathe."

Ron tried to breathe, really he did, but he couldn't help holding his breath instead. First in anticipation, because all he could think was _it's about fucking time_ , and then because it hurt. God, it hurt so much, and Ron tensed, not sure if this had been the best of ideas after all. Eyes screwed shut, Ron willed his lungs to start working again, because he'd just been feeling so good, and he knew, intellectually, that it wasn't supposed to hurt. Otherwise people wouldn't like this so much. But, _still_.

Nigel froze, lungs heaving. "Ron," he whispered, "Ron, it's okay. God, I'm sorry." He stroked his hands over Ron's chest soothingly, turned his head to kiss Ron's knee. "Push against me, Ron, and breathe." He started to move his hips in small easy motions, not quite pushing in, just nudging at Ron's hole. "Once it's in it'll be better, promise."

"Kay," Ron managed, the gentle touch of Nigel's hands on him just distracting enough. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. _Breathe, Weasley_. With each breath in and out, Ron felt himself relaxing more and more. He could still feel Nigel, barely inside him at all, and if it hadn't felt like the most full Ron had ever been before, Ron might have been embarrassed. But he wasn't embarrassed at all, and instead of blushing, Ron did the rest that Nigel had told him to, and bore down, opening his eyes in surprise when he felt Nigel's cock actually sinking deeper.

"God." Nigel choked on a gasp that wanted to be a laugh. Ron was tighter and hotter and _more_ than any of the pretty boys he'd fucked in clubs, and the wide-eyed look on his face was priceless. "See?" Nigel murmured, kissing Ron's knee again then scraping his teeth over the curve of it. "Sometimes I really do know what I'm doing."

Ron laughed back as best as he could. "Fucking prat," he said, bearing down again and pushing against Nigel, trying to pull him deeper. Then he laughed again, this time because he realised it didn't hurt nearly as much now. In fact, underneath the pain, it was starting to feel... "It feels... god, Nigel," Ron breathed, eyes still wide as he squeezed experimentally around the hard, hot length inside of him. "Feels _good_."

Nigel's eyes crossed when Ron squeezed him. "Yeah," he agreed breathlessly. "I know. Oh god, you're tight." He stroked a hand up the length of Ron's thigh, fighting to hold still, to let Ron adjust, but fuck. Fuck, it felt so wickedly good. Nigel pushed a little harder, pulled back, pushed again, sliding just slightly deeper into Ron. "Okay?" he gasped.

Nodding, Ron tried to remember to keep breathing, but then he looked at Nigel's face. Nigel looked like he'd never felt this good before in his life, and he was fucking _beautiful_. Ron didn't even realise he'd spoken the thought at all, he was so engrossed in watching Nigel.

"No," Nigel said softly, smile unconsciously tender. "Not really." Tentatively Nigel started to move, working deeper with each slow thrust until he was sliding home every time. As he moved, Nigel told Ron how good it felt, how tight he was, and hot, that he was the beautiful one. Nigel's hands roamed aimlessly over freckled skin as he rambled, the words more and more breathless as his control slipped further away.

The words washed over Ron, filling him and lifting him up as he tried to move, clumsily, with each thrust. His erection had failed when Nigel had first pushed in, the pain taking over, but now the blood was returning, his prick hardening once more. It felt amazing, the in and the out, being touched like this, pleasure racing like fire through Ron's veins. "Never felt so complete before," he murmured, hands roaming aimlessly over his own bare and sweat-slicked body. Ron gasped and moaned abruptly, body tensing and shuddering as he brushed his own cock with his fingers.

Nigel cried out as Ron tensed. "Again," he said, reaching down to curl his hand around Ron's cock. "Fuck. Do you have any idea how much I wanted this? Any idea how hard it's been not to just bend you over your cot." Nigel started thrusting faster, losing his rhythm and focus. "I had to listen to you sleep," he said, "and watch you every day, and I couldn't touch."

"I didn't understand," Ron gasped, reaching for Nigel. "I didn't understand what it was. Oh, god, Nigel, more. _Kiss me_."

" _Yes_." Nigel shrugged Ron's leg off one shoulder so he could lean in, taking Ron's mouth in a hard desperate kiss, forcing their lips together despite the movement of his hips, faster and harder as he fucked Ron and lost control completely.

The change in angle hit _something_ inside of Ron, and he cried out against Nigel's lips, wrapping an arm around his neck to keep him there as he surged up, unable to hold still as Nigel's cock hit that spot again and again. He wanted to tell Nigel how good it felt, but he couldn't talk any more. He could only swear and moan and cry out, clenching tightly around Nigel, shaking and so completely lost.

"Come," Nigel begged against Ron's mouth, "please, Ron, please come. Let go." Nigel was so close, pleasure scrambling his brain and sparking up his spine and he needed Ron to come so he could, needed Ron to enjoy this first time and not hate him for his complete lack of control and resolve. Forcing his hand between them, Nigel wrapped it around Ron's cock again and tugged.

A new sort of magic screamed through Ron, and he took off, free leg wrapping around Nigel's waist, body wracked with spasm after spasm as he came. He was flying, he was sure of it, and he clung to Nigel, determined to take him with. He was flying, and Ron wasn't sure he even wanted to land at all.

Nigel's body seized and shook as he followed Ron over the edge almost immediately, his arms wrapping tightly around Ron to hold him close. "Oh god," he gasped. He buried his face in Ron's neck as his hips jerked repeatedly, filling Ron with hot spunk. Colours swirled across his vision and he couldn't breathe for the pleasure rolling through him in hard waves. " _Ron_ ," Nigel whimpered, and licked at Ron's neck. "Good, I... so... oh, fuck."

For a long while, Ron just focused on breathing again, but the burn of his leg being pressed up as it was finally got through his post-coital haze, and Ron managed to move as little as possible to free himself, loosely winding the leg around Nigel, keeping him close. "Goddamn," he murmured, kissing Nigel's hair, and then laughed softly. "So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?"

Nigel snorted out a laugh. "You've discovered the secret," he said mildly, too comfortable with himself in general and with Ron in particular to take offense. Everyone always said he had quite the mouth on him. Reluctantly Nigel pulled away from Ron just enough to free his cock from Ron's body, then he settled himself back in Ron's arms and yawned. "I can't believe it was you who jumped me," Nigel mumbled. He nuzzled his nose under Ron's jaw. "Thought you were straight and I'd break. Just... _snap_."

He wanted to talk (he usually did) and tell Ron he was sorry, that he didn't expect another go and hadn't expected this one, that he hadn't meant to lose control but that it had felt so bloody good. That Ron was brilliant and tasted perfect and... And he fell asleep trying to think of what else Ron was, but he didn't have the words to say it anyway.

Ron poked at Nigel's shoulder. "Oi," he said, but without any real heat. "You're heavy, prat." But Nigel was out for the count, and Ron didn't honestly want to lose this heavy weight, pressing him so comfortably into the mattress. There were none of the soft curves Ron was used to, only hard muscles and sharp angles, but somehow Nigel fit just _right_ against Ron, just like he'd fit inside him, too. Relaxing, Ron let the steady beat of Nigel's heart and the quiet sounds of his breathing lull him into sleep, despite the worry about what would happen tomorrow, now that they had this out of their systems. Especially since Ron was fairly sure he only wanted it more now that he knew _what_ it was.

 _Yeah. Definitely going to have to re-think the whole "straight" thing_ , he thought with a yawn, kissing the side of Nigel's forehead and slipping into a comfortable, dreamless slumber.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel felt absolutely brilliant; warm and lazy, completely sated. He didn't remember when he first started to wake where he was or that he was even on a job. The mattress was soft and yet just firm enough, and the bloke he was tangled with was putting off heat like a furnace. Nigel snuggled in closer and then froze, his eyes popping open as the rest of him stilled. _Ron_.

Reluctantly and carefully, Nigel untangled himself from Ron and rose. He'd love nothing more than to wake Ron with slow kisses, or by shoving his tongue deep into Ron again, but Nigel knew Ron would be sore and didn't know if Ron would want another round even when he wasn't. Ron completely confused Nigel, scrambling his brain in more ways than one. The thought made Nigel smile wryly as he moved silently to the loo.

Once he was finished, he gave his face a quick wash and brushed his teeth, then dressed in pants and jeans before going back to the bedroom. He swallowed a laugh; he'd gone a bit overboard with the mattress. They were lucky it hadn't caught any of the poles holding the tent up when it spread. As it was, the tent was stretched over the bulge of it on both sides. Quietly Nigel shrunk the mattress just enough that he could walk alongside, then sat on the edge next to Ron's hip. Ron was sprawled on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow he had a hand under. With a soft, tender expression, Nigel reached out to cup Ron's arse, thumb stroking the freckled skin before he bent to kiss one rounded curve. He'd get something to try and ease some of Ron's ache, Nigel thought, in just a minute.

Murmuring wordlessly, Ron woke to the gentle touch on his backside. He didn't really want to be awake just now, not when he felt so sleepy and comfortable, and he tried to burrow deeper into the perfect mattress as though that alone would protect him from his growing wakefulness. "Don't wanna go to work today," he mumbled. "Floo Kings and tell 'im m'calling in dead, yeah?"

Nigel rested his forehead in the small of Ron's back and laughed helplessly. "I would if we had a Floo," he said, still laughing. He lifted his head to press his lips at the base of Ron's spine. "We could take a day," Nigel whispered. They'd gone a week straight and yesterday had been... difficult. He could go over his notes again, and they could rest, and maybe that had been part of the problem. Nigel's thoughts wandered as he kissed up Ron's spine. "How do you feel?"

"Lazy," Ron said, stretching slowly and wincing as various bits of him protested. "Sore," he added, and then sighed; the idea of a day to recover from walking what felt like halfway across the bleeding countryside, to take the chance to balance from the emotional roller coaster of the day before was tempting. And really, there was no real reason why they shouldn't take the time. "We could, I reckon. It's not like anyone seems to care we're here, anyhow," he said, finally opening his eyes and blinking across the mattress. "And this is a far sight better'n those cots, mate."

Nigel laughed again, a soft, husky sound. "It's completely impractical on a job, but since we're staying put for the day..." Nigel shrugged. "Listen. I have this cream, it would help. I'd be glad to rub it in for you, only it'll make you a bit numb, and considering where I'd need to put it, it'll feel odd." Nigel stroked Ron's arse lightly again. It would make Nigel's fingers numb, too, but he didn't mind. It might even help him keep his hands to himself for awhile.

Ron turned his head, twisting to look at Nigel at last. "No, it's okay," he said, grinning crookedly. "I don't mind it, not really." He blushed and closed his eyes briefly, still not awake enough to even think about not being utterly honest. "Kind of like it, actually."

"Okay," Nigel whispered, unable to stop the wide, smug grin from spreading over his face. He planted another kiss directly in the centre of Ron's back and then stretched out next to him. Pillowing his head on one arm, Nigel used the other hand to draw lazy patterns across Ron's shoulders. "Go back to sleep, then."

"You too," Ron said, nuzzling close. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something off about this, though, and when he did finally put his finger on it, he couldn't help but grin. What was odd, was that nothing about this really felt odd at all. Mornings after were so often uncomfortable until Ron and the girl found the right rhythm for mundane things like coffee and breakfast, but this was different. Maybe it was just a bonus to them having lived in each other's pockets for a week solid, maybe it was something else, but either way, Ron liked it. "S'nice," he said, freeing his hand from under the pillow to cup Nigel's waist.

"Fuck, yes," Nigel said and immediately yawned, then laughed. "Haven't slept in days." Nigel shifted them, tangling himself with Ron again, pushing one denim-clad leg between Ron's and curling close. "And yes," he murmured, "very nice."

Ron chuckled softly, rolling properly onto his side and burrowing against Nigel's chest now instead of the bed. _I could_ , he thought with a yawn, already falling back asleep now that he was wrapped in secure arms, _get used to this_.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next time Ron woke, the air had the distinct feeling of late morning, and he shook his bleary head as he sat up -- carefully, though, because his arse was still sore, and while it was a good sort of ache, there was no reason to make it stronger just now. He was alone in the tent, Ron noticed as he stood, cracking his neck and working the kinks out of his shoulders. Nigel must have gone outside to look over his notes. Or at least Ron hoped, because he'd hate to have to kill the other bloke for traipsing off and leaving Ron to snore away instead of doing his job. Once a quick peek past the tent flap did indeed show Nigel nearby, Ron laughed at himself and ignored the wave of relief that had nothing to do with work. Telling himself he was being a prat, Ron ducked off to take a shower and dress.

Still damp, but clean now and wearing his cargo pants and white t-shirt again, Ron grabbed his bag to join Nigel out in the clearing. His supplies needed going through and cleaning, and today was the perfect day to do just that. Nigel was sitting on a fallen log and utterly engrossed in whatever it was he was reading, black-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, and Ron couldn't help an unconsciously fond smile spreading across his face as he neared.

"Good read?" he teased.

Nigel made a noncommittal noise and held up his hand as if to say "just a minute", but he never looked up and never really noticed he was no longer alone.

Dropping his bag from higher up than was really necessary, Ron wasn't all that surprised when Nigel didn't bat so much as a lash. In a way, now and then, Nigel reminded Ron of Hermione, and how single-minded she could be once she'd latched onto a problem. Oh, she could be distracted, but Ron had long ago learned that he had to be careful how he did it, otherwise he'd regret it for ages.

Of course, the first idea for distracting Nigel involved molesting him, and Ron wasn't really all that sure he was allowed that now. Then again, the ache in his arse reminded Ron that if nothing else, Nigel owed him at least a few liberties this morning. Grinning, Ron knelt behind Nigel and tugged down on the collar of his shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest and the cuffs rolled up strong and darkly tanned forearms, and pressed a kiss to the back of Nigel's neck, lifting dark hair out of his way with a slow, deliberate nuzzle.

"Hang on," Nigel said, reaching up with one hand to pat Ron's forearm. "Be a second, yeah? Found this spot where I mistranslated, and now I..." Nigel's voice trailed off and he patted Ron's arm again.

Ron laughed softly and kissed Nigel's neck again. "Don't worry," he said, hands roaming over Nigel's chest, down across his strong belly. "I can always entertain myself."

Nigel hissed in a breath as Ron's hands finally got through his academic fog. He twisted around, papers clenched in one hand, and cupped the back of Ron's neck with the other. "Or we can entertain each other," he said, and pulled Ron into a slow, thorough kiss.

Gratified that he was welcome even though Nigel had made it clear the day before that this sort of complication was the last thing he wanted right now, Ron kissed back, biting on Nigel's lower lip as he let one hand smooth down, along the top of one of Nigel's solid thighs. _This_ Ron knew how to do. And he was good at it, too, if Ron remembered correctly.

"Ron," Nigel murmured, fingers tightening and climbing into red hair. This was going to get uncomfortable quickly; Nigel could already feel the strain in his shoulders and neck, but he just couldn't stop _tasting_ , not even long enough to turn completely and ease Ron down to the forest floor. "We can't," Nigel whispered, "you're - mmm, Ron - still sore."

"Don't be dense," Ron breathed, deliberately cupping Nigel through his jeans. "There's more to do besides fuck," he said, squeezing as he spoke, grinning against Nigel's lips before pulling away entirely. Before Nigel could think to object though, Ron was up and around in front of him, pulling him back in for another kiss. "Don't you want to see what I already know?" he offered, both hands on Nigel's spread legs, thumbs caressing his upper inner thighs in slow, steady circles.

Nigel dropped the papers, tangling both hands in Ron's hair to pull him into yet another kiss. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" he said, laughing breathlessly. He nuzzled Ron, kissed him again, unable to get enough of the way he tasted. "Show me."

"That's what I'm _doing_ ," Ron said in a deliberately petulant voice, covering the return of his nerves with bravado. Shoving uncertainty and confusion aside, Ron leant in and kissed Nigel deeply, sliding his tongue into the other man's mouth as he cupped Nigel's hips and guided him to sit on the ground in front of the log. That accomplished, Ron grinned and pushed harder into the kiss as he made short work of the few buttons that were actually done up on Nigel's shirt.

Forcing himself not to take over, to let Ron set the pace and make the moves, was more difficult than Nigel had anticipated. He'd always thought of himself an easygoing sort, in sex as in everything else, but for some reason with Ron, Nigel had a deep and unreasonable need to _claim_ , in the most primal way. To push him down and fuck him hard, mark him, show him who he belonged to...

No. Oh, no, he was completely, absolutely not going there. Nigel breathed in through his nose as he kissed Ron back, shoving that line of thought as far into the back of his mind as he could and slamming the door on it. Still, it bled into the kiss as Nigel ate at Ron's mouth, fingers flexing against Ron's head. _Mine._

Ron slid his hands up Nigel's torso, slowly mapping as he went. Out of reflex, Ron turned his hand and cupped it, though there was nothing to hold, none of the soft curves he was used to; recovering quickly, Ron pulled away from Nigel's mouth to kiss along his broad, square jaw, lips and tongue brushing stubble as he went. At the same time, Ron moved his hands to Nigel's sides, murmuring, "I can't get enough of the way you taste."

Nigel let his head fall back, gulping for air as Ron's mouth moved over his jaw. He'd caught the aborted search for breasts. He was almost too aware of Ron, of everything he did, just as he was all too aware he was Ron's great gay experiment. That isolated as they were, and randy as he was, it was a miracle he'd lasted a week before he'd lost control. He supposed he was lucky he'd gotten partnered with a kid who was willing to let him play instead of beating him up for the blow job. Nigel huffed out a laugh - that would be Bill's task, once they were back. So why did all this feel so very serious, if they were only playing? "Taste all you want," Nigel murmured.

"So kind," Ron laughed, kissing down Nigel's neck. Impulsively, Ron veered over to suck on Nigel's Adam's Apple, humming in enjoyment before moving downward again, nipping at Nigel's shoulder, licking down one side of his collarbone, kissing the flat of his sternum. Ron pinched one of Nigel's nipples between long fingers, calloused and strong, and gently twisted the skin until it pebbled under his touch.

"That's me," Nigel said, breath hitching at the pinch. "Kind, generous, considerate, everyone's best mate, really." Nigel's hands guided Ron back up into another kiss, because he couldn't get enough of Ron's taste either. He spread his legs wide, one stretching out flat as he slouched just a bit lower against the log. If he moved down a bit more, he could push his cock against Ron's leg...  
"Don't forget modest, too," Ron laughed, and kissed Nigel back, welcoming his tongue as he stroked down Nigel's chest and toyed with the waistband of his jeans. Pausing for a moment, Ron finally went full speed ahead, thumbing open Nigel's flies and reaching into his jeans, covering Nigel's hot and hard length, squeezing him again and again through the soft cotton of his pants. Biting Nigel's lower lip, Ron groaned in appreciation and started to rub slowly back and forth.

"Didn't forget," Nigel gasped, hips lifting into Ron's hand. "Oh god, that feels good." Nigel slouched further, lifted his hips harder, and managed a winning - if shaky - smile. "I'm not at all modest."

Touching their foreheads together, Ron grinned back. "At least you're honest, yeah?" he asked, worming his hand under Nigel's pants and finally wrapping his hand around Nigel's cock, silky skin moving and catching on the rough skin of Ron's palm. "Let me know if I do something wrong," he added, kissing the corner of Nigel's mouth, and then scooting down to lick and nibble his way to one of Nigel's nipples, hand never once faltering. God, but Ron was so turned on, so hard he was ridiculously glad he'd worn his cargo pants because denim would have been absolute torture. "I want to be able to see your face when you come," he breathed, only slightly shaky as he tugged on the budded nipple with sharp, even teeth.

Nigel groaned and closed his eyes. "You won't have to wait long," he rasped, giving in to the inevitable. Ron was going to jerk him off, and he was going to enjoy it, and maybe he'd even get Ron to suck him later. He could so clearly imagine his cock between Ron's lips, imagine the way Ron's head would look, bobbing between his thighs. Nigel could feel the tug of Ron's teeth all the way to his cock, and he wanted more. "Bite the other one," Nigel whispered, "just a bit harder, yeah?"

Grinning, Ron lifted his head and let go of Nigel's cock only long enough to lick his palm, and then went right back to stroking him. "Like this?" he asked with what was most definitely a smirk, and then latched onto Nigel's other nipple, sucking harder and biting with a low rumble in the back of his throat. "Good?"

"Yeah," Nigel whimpered. He completely wasn't used to this. When he fucked, he'd find a pretty, usually stupid, guy in an anonymous club, bend him over, and fuck until he was done. He'd once in awhile had a "relationship", meaning he'd fuck the same guy a few times in a row, give a blow job instead of just getting one, and let the guy stay overnight once or twice. But Ron was - god. Ron was trying new things, completely focused on him, and he couldn't just bend the kid over and fuck him because Ron was sore, and because he was Bill's baby brother, and not just an anonymous fuck. Determined to put things back on a completely physical footing, like he was used to, Nigel pulled one hand from Ron's hair and reached down to cup and squeeze Ron's cock through his trousers. He took a deep breath and smiled. "Very good."  
Ron gasped, and then groaned as he squeezed Nigel more firmly. "So's that," he said, nipping at Nigel's chest. Looking down at Nigel's cock, Ron licked his lips and wondered how the older man would taste, how he'd feel against his tongue.

Nigel squeezed Ron again, smirking. "I know," he said, adding smugly, "Like what you see, there, Ron? You should stroke it harder, it won't break." He stroked Ron, demonstrating, then used the hand still in Ron's hair to pull him up into yet another kiss. "Make me come," he whispered challengingly into Ron's mouth. "Break _me_."

Scrambling, Ron straddled Nigel's outstretched leg, his hand moving harder now, up and down Nigel's cock, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. "I like looking at your cock, Nigel," he half-groaned, opening his trousers and pushing Nigel's hand into the parted fabric. "Makes me think about how it felt inside me." He nosed along Nigel's neck, scenting him loudly and nipping at his earlobe. "Makes me want to feel it again, right now." Moaning, Ron couldn't help but picture what he said next. "Would you like that, _Nigel_? Would you like me to ride you just like this, right now?"

" _Yes_." Nigel curled his fingers around Ron's cock and tugged hard. "I want to fuck you. You're the tightest arse I've ever had, and I can't wait to feel you smooth and slick around me again. So fucking hot." Nigel's head fell back again, resting now on the log behind him, neck arched to offer it to Ron.

"Oh god," Ron whimpered, jerking Nigel almost brutally now. "Oh god, I want it. Want you. Don't want to wait, just want you to fuck me." He swallowed heavily, thrusting into Nigel's hand, sucking on Nigel's neck, surrounded by Nigel's scents and sounds. Nigel, Nigel, Nigel... Ron's world was narrowed down to their bodies, and he loved it. "Please, Nigel," he begged, voice almost as desperate as he felt. "Please, promise you'll fuck me again. I feel so empty..."

Nigel shifted, moving so quickly the world spun as he sat up and pushed Ron down, following him to the ground. "Yes," he hissed and took Ron's mouth in an almost brutal kiss. He was once again out of control, and wondered dimly if he'd ever have fun, easy sex again. The need that roared through him was tinged with fear as much as with the primal possessiveness only Ron had ever generated. Tugging sharply, Nigel pulled Ron's trousers off, not caring if they tore in the process, then left a trail of kisses down Ron's chest before wrapping his lips around Ron's cock with a moan.

"Oh holy _fuck_!" Ron cried out, thrusting up once, hands fisting in Nigel's hair. Ron's eyes rolled back and low, quiet whimpers passed his lips, and _god_ but he was sure he was seeing stars right now, because Nigel made him feel just that good, made him feel that much. "So much," he gasped, legs parting in invitation.

Nigel let Ron's cock slip free of his lips, kissing down the shaft to suck first one and then the other side of Ron's testicles. "There's more," he growled, "much more," and braced his hands on Ron's thighs to push them up and open so he could shove his tongue into Ron's body. He had to get Ron ready before he completely broke and fucked him, because he didn't want to hurt him again, and god, but he _needed_.

One heel digging into Nigel's back, Ron canted his hips up, welcoming Nigel's tongue this time. He moaned, a needy and broken sound, at the feel of being invaded even this much, and twisted his fingers briefly before remembering to actually let go of Nigel's hair. "Fuck, Nigel," Ron panted, biting his own lip and wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly. "Fuck, take it, take me, take anything you want, just don't fucking stop."

Reaching out blindly, Nigel pulled his tongue free just long enough to _accio_ his wand before shoving his tongue back in, again and again. He was going to use the wand, to slick and stretch Ron, really he was, as soon as he could make himself stop thrusting his tongue through that tight ring of muscle. Nigel moaned and curved one hand over Ron's hip, squeezing hard enough to bruise, holding Ron open.

There was this roaring, rushing sound in Ron's ears, and he bit his tongue and held on, hand tight about the base of his cock as he staved off his orgasm. Touching Nigel, having Nigel touch him, kiss him, and then the dizzying way Nigel took charge as soon as Ron broke... it was all adding up to just very nearly more than Ron could handle. But still, he held on, determined to come during the fuck and not before. "I want to," he managed, pausing and licking his lips as he tugged up on Nigel's hair. "Want to come on your cock, Nigel. Please, hurry. So _close_."

"Oh god." Nigel was shaking, cock hard and leaking, mind nearly gone from need, and hearing Ron say _that_ was almost too much. He sat back and fumbled with the wand, finally managing the spell he needed with a bit more force and less control than he usually displayed. Lube oozed from Ron's body, and Nigel had to laugh softly at himself even as he positioned himself at Ron's entrance and started to push. Ron wasn't quite as tight as he'd been before, so the spell had overdone there too, but he was still tight enough that Nigel's eyes rolled as the head of his cock popped inside. "Good, it's okay," Nigel muttered. "Won't hurt. Please, are you okay this time?"

"Fuck yes." This time, Ron remembered to breathe, remembered to let Nigel in, and it felt _good_. Oh, he hurt, but it was hardly anything more than the complaint of over-used muscles, nothing else. He was so hard, so close, so desperate, and the little bit of pain took the edge off. "God, move. Please, _move_."

Nigel moved. Trying to keep his pace slow and easy, he worked himself further in with each push until he could bury himself completely in Ron's body on each slow thrust. "Put your legs around me," Nigel said roughly, shoving one hand under Ron's hip to pull him up into the thrusts, adjusting their angle as he tried to find Ron's sweet spot.

Hurrying to obey, Ron moaned wantonly at the feeling of being filled over and over again. Oh god, this felt so good, better than anything else that Ron had felt before. And then Nigel hit his prostate, and it got even _better_. Crying out, Ron clenched around the hard length inside of him and tightened his legs, pulling Nigel in faster and harder.

"Ron!" Nigel broke when Ron squeezed him, beginning to thrust hard and fast as he pushed helplessly toward orgasm. "I can't wait," he said, "I just - fuck. Touch yourself, Ron, I have to come. You have to come, you're so gorgeous when you come, and god, the sounds you make..." Nigel made a desperate sound and thrust harder.

But Ron didn't have to touch himself to come. Nigel's words, his thrusts, the look on his face... Ron gave a broken cry, back arching and hands clenching in the dirt as he came, shooting off between them in long, hot pulses. Shuddering, Ron could only cling to Nigel with his legs, gasping his lover's name over and over again. Nigel was all there was, anyhow.

That was all it took for Nigel; having Ron convulse under and around him sent Nigel screaming over the edge into flight. Nigel's body jerked and shuddered, pouring everything he was into Ron. An eternity later he was merely shaking, barely remembering in time to shift his weight to one side before collapsing against Ron. "Holy fuck," Nigel gasped. "What you do to me."

With a smug smile and a sigh of contentment, Ron wrapped his arms around Nigel and kissed the side of his face. "I try," he said, but even just those two words were breathy and uneven. He laughed softly. "Although I really did mean to just show you how I already knew how to suck cock, you know," he added, nuzzling and feeling chatty. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

Nigel laughed. "You can show me later." A voice in the back of his mind demanded to know whose cock Ron had sucked, but Nigel ignored it as he pushed himself up just enough to look down at Ron. He meant to tease Ron about his claim of being straight, but instead he simply cupped Ron's face in one hand and bent to kiss him slowly. "You okay?" he breathed.

Ron looked up at Nigel with clear blue eyes and smiled faintly. He felt good, calm despite the fact that the past 24 hours were forcing him to rethink much of his life, and Ron knew there was a decent chance he'd freak out later on, but right now, everything was _right_. "Surprisingly enough, yeah," he said, squeezing Nigel about the waist.

"Good." Nigel smiled and briefly pressed his forehead to Ron's. "Now, if you're through molesting my body, I was in the middle of a rather important re-translation before I was so thoroughly debauched. I mean, interrupted."

"If that's a complaint, I can keep my hands to myself," Ron said, managing a smug look before snorting at himself. "For at least half an hour, at any rate." Reluctantly, Ron unwound his legs to let Nigel go. "I'm not much of a nerd like some in my family, but I'll help if you need it, yeah?"

Nigel bent to kiss Ron again and murmured, "Not a complaint," against his lips. He stayed on and in Ron for another few seconds before reluctantly pulling free and casting a cleansing charm on them both. He really hadn't wanted to let go. When he sat up, Nigel realised he hadn't removed his jeans at all, hadn't even managed to push them off his hips. Leaning against the log again, Nigel began to laugh helplessly. "Sorry," he gasped, not sure whether he was apologising for not getting his clothes off, or for laughing, or both.

Rolling his eyes, Ron grabbed his trousers and pulled them on. His pants were nowhere to be seen, and Ron didn't really make all that much of an effort to find them. "You're weird," he said, chuckling as he crawled over next to Nigel and leaned against him companionably.

"Yeah," Nigel agreed, still snickering but finally managing to tuck himself back into his pants and fasten his jeans. "It's only Bill -" Nigel hesitated, realising that perhaps telling Ron that his big brother was the last one Nigel had fucked with his jeans still on wasn't the best idea, not right now at least. "Should have warned you," he finished a bit lamely. Nigel threw an arm around Ron and kissed the side of his face.  
"Reality is so much more than any warning," Ron laughed, nuzzling closer.

Nigel laughed again, settling Ron comfortably against him as he reached for his papers, trying to smooth them out with one hand. "You're right," he said, looking around for his glasses. When had they come off, and where had they gone? He hadn't the slightest idea. "I'm something that just has to be experienced to be believed."

Ron shook his head and laughed again. "You've no shame, you nutter," he said, patting Nigel's now-covered groin. When he moved, there was a loud crunching noise, and Ron reaching under his arse with a wince to pull out Nigel's glasses, cracked and mangled. "Whoops," he said with another of those crooked grins, looking over at Nigel through pale red eyelashes. "Let me fix that." One quick wandless spell later, Nigel's glasses were fixed and Ron was sliding them onto Nigel's face with a soft look, fingers lingering. _My nutter_.

Coughing, Ron forced himself to look away and shoved that last thought down deep. To distract himself, Ron pulled a couple of the papers out of Nigel's hand. Not, really, that it made all that much sense to him, he admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "It's all Arabic to me, I'm afraid," he said, giving the papers back. He noticed that all of Nigel's papers were covered in notes, though, and had one idea that might help at least a little. "I've a notebook," he said, jerking his head over to where he'd dropped his bag. "If you need more parchment."

"I just might," Nigel said with a grin and an exaggerated leer, taking the papers from Ron and smoothing them again. His attention was caught by a paragraph and he was instantly lost once more in the documents. "And it's Nubian to you, love," he added absently. "Pre-Arab invasion." According to this, they were off a few miles, and should be able to get back on track rather easily. Plus, the protective curses, the charms to hide the statue, just might be breaking down, which would explain why word of the vault had come to light...

Eyebrows raised at the pet name, but not actually objecting, Ron slid out from under Nigel's arm to get his pack. Notebook retrieved, Ron balanced the leather-bound book on Nigel's thigh before leaning in to kiss his neck. "I smell like a rent-boy," Ron murmured. "Have to take _another_ shower. Back in a tick."

Nigel grabbed at Ron's arm, holding him there. "Rent-boy?" he asked, one eyebrow climbing. "Does Bill know _you_ know what a rent-boy smells like?"

"Bill isn't my dad," Ron said, arching his eyebrow in direct imitation. "Why?" It was just an expression Ron had picked up somewhere, but he caught a hint of something in Nigel's eye and couldn't resist poking while he had the chance. "What's wrong with knowing, anyhow?

"Nothing, I guess," Nigel grumbled, tugging Ron down into his lap. "I guess it depends on whether it comes from personal knowledge."

Ron snorted and dug his elbow into Nigel's stomach. "And what if it does?" he challenged with a decided smirk.

"Nothing," Nigel said again, even more grumpy and with absolutely no cause. He pushed Ron's elbow away from his stomach, wishing suddenly that he himself had no idea what a rent-boy smelt like. "Go take your shower."

Rolling his eyes, Ron nipped at Nigel's scowling mouth. "It's a turn of phrase," he finally said, climbing out of Nigel's lap. Bending over, Ron decided to take pity on Nigel and his grumpiness. "And that's all it is, _love_ ," he whispered teasingly, before straightening and sauntering back toward the tent, pulling off his stained t-shirt before stepping out of view.

Nigel watched Ron stroll away, mouth slightly agape. "Well, fuck," he finally said. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then left it there, hiding for just a moment. Not that it did any good - he couldn't very well hide from himself. Had he called Ron 'love'? It, too, was just a turn of phrase. Right? People used it all the time, especially in London. Just because he himself didn't, didn't mean it meant anything at all.

Grabbing his papers again, Nigel forced his attention away from the convoluted mess his thoughts were turning into and back on the translation in front of him. _Statue. Find the bloody statue, and go back home, and things will be normal again._ Absently, Nigel rubbed a hand over his heart as he started to read.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: blood (not sexy) and somnophilia (consensual)

~~~*~~~

 

Ron was certain that it was a bad idea for him to be behind Nigel. Not because of any potential danger, because he was working on doing just what he'd yelled at Nigel for and trusting his partner to watch his own arse. But, rather, because Ron couldn't stop watching Nigel's arse. At all. He'd nearly tripped at least three times, and had taken an actual tumble into Nigel's back once, and this was just getting ridiculous. He hadn't been this distracted sexually in years, not since he was a teenager, and Ron felt clumsy going through it for a second time. Not to mention negligent in his duties. 

But the problem was, Ron wasn't just thinking about sex now. Not in general, or with men or women in particular, but sex with _Nigel_ , and how Nigel's idea of cuddling after was to collapse on top of Ron and stay there for as long as he could get away with. He was thinking about how Nigel laughed and smiled and the bloody stupid jokes he'd crack, laughing hardest of the two of them. Ron was thinking about a lot of things, he realised, so maybe it was better after all if he kept his eyes on Nigel's arse and his mind in his pants.

They'd been walking steadily downhill most of the day, since shortly after breaking camp, and the terrain was getting rougher, but Ron still managed to watch where he was going for the most part, while keeping an eye on Nigel's arse, cradled in denim and right in front of him, close enough that Ron could just reach out and...

A distant noise caught Ron's ear, wrenching his thoughts to the immediate present. Nigel was still walking; he probably hadn't heard anything, and Ron might have imagined it, but it was doubtful. Closing the distance between them, Ron slid his hand over Nigel's shoulder. At the same time, Ron heard the sound again, and squared his jaw with determination. Their noisy alternate route might have just saved them.

Nigel tensed at Ron's touch. They could not stop and have sex in the middle of the trail, and he was fairly sure that wasn't why Ron was suddenly so close with a hand on his shoulder, but for the life of him, burying himself in Ron's arse again was all he could think about.

"We've someone behind us," Ron murmured, leaning in close. "Do you think we're close enough to those hills?" The hills that the men they'd encountered had mentioned would be as good a place as any to hide, and might even have caves, if they were lucky. Nigel had been muttering something the night before about the vault possibly being underground, so if, by some wild circumstance, they really were that lucky...

Hills. Yes, think about the hills. Nigel took a breath and turned his head slightly to whisper back. "Depends on how close they are. We aren't far, but we aren't on top of them, either."  
Ron's hand slid down Nigel's arm. He didn't like the idea of running into people this close to their destination. Something about it sat wrong with Ron, a gut feeling that he wasn't going to ignore. "Let's go then," he said softly, squeezing Nigel's arm. "Quickly. And try not to leave too much of a trail, yeah?"

"Yes, sir," Nigel muttered almost snidely, but he bit his tongue instead of engaging in the very pissing contest he'd told Ron this wasn't. When did he start acting like a child? Nigel took a deep slow breath and then picked up his pace, trying to stay quiet as possible.

Ron let go of Nigel's arm, trotting carefully behind him and keeping one ear trained on the forest behind them. He couldn't be completely sure, but it might have sounded like whoever was behind them was keeping pace. Stomach suddenly knotted with worry, Ron mentally kicked himself for missing clues on trouble. There had to have been some, of that he was sure, but he'd been too busy watching Nigel walk to take note.

By the time they broke through the trees to see a small stream and hills on the other side, dotted with the caves they'd been hoping for, Ron and Nigel were outright running. Whoever was chasing them was crashing through the underbrush, somehow managing to gain on them. _They must know the land_ , Ron thought breathlessly as he pulled ahead and cupped Nigel's elbow, urging him on and across the stream. "C'mon on!" he ordered, long legs eating up the ground toward what he could only hope would be cover and safety.

Nigel took a few seconds to envy Ron's youth and stamina, and his bloody long legs, as they ran. He'd always prided himself on keeping fit, but he was struggling to keep up with his younger partner. "Coming," Nigel said breathlessly. The caves were close, but their pursuers were closing ground fast. "Almost there, Ron, we'll be fine."

The crashing sounds stopped and for a brief moment Nigel thought wildly that whoever it was had given up, had stopped chasing them, but then there was a sharp popping sound that echoed all around them and harsh screaming fire slammed into Nigel's upper arm. He stumbled, falling to his knees, biting his lip against the need to yell out his pain.

The echo of gunfire was a shot of icewater in his veins. Ron only spared a cursory glance over his shoulder to see how many guns they had. Then he saw Nigel, on the ground. _Fuck_.

Turning around, Ron dove for the ground while casting a hex to temporarily jam the guns. "C'mon, Nige," he grunted, tugging up on the arm not covered with blood. He was already mostly to his feet by the time Ron got there, but that didn't stop Ron. The hex wouldn't last long, couldn't without leaving traces of tampering. Chancing another glance, Ron saw the Americans from two days ago, swearing at their rifles and jerking at the hexed bits. "All right?"

"Just fine." Nigel gave Ron a sickly shadow of his most winning smile as he made it to his feet, head spinning. "Get moving, kid, they've got guns." Nigel sucked in a harsh breath and forced himself to start moving, curling his still functioning hand around Ron's arm just above the elbow as much for an anchor as to get Ron going again. Cold sweat beaded over Nigel's forehead but he ignored it. He could give in to the searing agony as soon as they were somewhere safe.

"No kidding," Ron huffed, pulling Nigel's good arm over his shoulders and winding a strong arm about his waist. "Hadn't noticed." _Bloody fucking Secrecy Statutes. Could just get us the fuck away from these homicidal Muggles, but no..._ Behind them, there was a shout of triumph, and Ron dodged out of reflex, the ground beside them erupting in clods of dirt as the guns started working again. Ron could smell smoke and blood -- Nigel's blood -- and he could taste his own fear, bitter in the back of his throat.

Another shot, this one closer than the last, and Ron dragged Nigel into a narrow opening, hoping it was part of a cave network that might give them enough cover. It was dark, and the cave went deep, with two tunnels leading deeper into the ground. Ron dragged Nigel into the further tunnel, hands checking for any more injuries. "Are you all right?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, pausing only to cast concealment charms on the both of them. The Americans would have seen where they'd gone. "Did they get you anywhere else?"

"Shh," Nigel said very softly, "they'll hear you." He collapsed against the side of the tunnel, legs going out from under him in a rush. "Shh." Nigel lifted his good hand and pressed two fingertips to Ron's lips. "Just the arm," he continued, "just a scratch." The pain was excruciating, and without the adrenaline rush of running for their lives, Nigel couldn't withstand it any more. "M'fine," he said as his eyes rolled back. His lips formed Ron's name soundlessly and then he sagged to one side, unconscious.

Biting back Nigel's name, Ron caught and held him just as the Americans came into the cave.

"That British pussy could sure move," The tall one said, shining his torch down the tunnel Ron and Nigel were in. Holding his breath and his hand over Nigel's mouth, Ron hoped his charms held. "Never knew geeks could do anything besides talk about how smart they are." The beam of the torch moved away.

"Somethin' tells me he weren't no scientist," the other one said, spitting on the ground. "His eyes... they was too hard, ya know?"

The tall one laughed. "You're fuckin' paranoid, pal. Still... do you think they found the stash? It'd be a pain in the balls to have to move all that _now_."

His partner shrugged and shone his torch down Ron's tunnel as well. "Don't matter, I say. I hit the big one, and this far from civ'lization, he'll be lucky if he don't die of blood poisoning 'fore getting to one of them butchers they call docs 'round here."

"And without his talking map," the other finished as they checked the other tunnel, "the skinny guy won't have a chance in the jungle."

"'Zactly. Hey, didja hear something? Down there..."

The voices faded off into the distance as the Americans took the other tunnel, and Ron sagged against Nigel for a moment. "Nigel," he murmured, smacking Nigel's cheeks. "Nigel, love, we've got to find a different hideout before they get back."

Nigel's head rolled back but otherwise he didn't move. He was pale under his tan, skin clammy, and blood continued to soak his shirt although the free flow had slowed to a sluggish ooze.

"Fuck." Ron yanked his own t-shirt off and tied it around Nigel's arm. It would have to do until they were safer. "C'mon then," he grunted, pulling Nigel away from the wall to stretch him out. "Swear you've put on a full stone since this morning, prat."

With Nigel away from the wall, Ron cast a _Mobiluscorpus_ , and floated Nigel back out of the cave with him. The hairs on the back of Ron's neck prickled at using magic in broad daylight, but he kept his concealment charms going. Picking another cave opening at random, Ron pulled Nigel in after him, pausing only to cast a faint obscuring charm on the cave mouth. The cave was narrow and deep, and the further they went, the more it became obvious they were in another tunnel. Finally, the tunnel opened up to a small cavern, easily lit by the tip of Ron's wand, and he called it good enough for now. The rock felt warm, the way even the most innocent object got warm when stored too long with something powerful, so if they actually survived this, running here might turn out to be a good thing.

Casting spells left and right, Ron made up a cot for Nigel and conjured some blue flame for light before turning to tend Nigel's wound. Picking at the knot he'd made with his t-shirt, Ron breathed a bit easier when he saw the bullet hadn't gone too deep. He'd be able to take care of this in the field; he'd tended worse during the war. Hell, he'd had worse himself on several occasions.

Ron gathered his medical supplies, glad Nigel was still out. Being shot, even if it was a bullet graze, was bad enough. But the cleaning and bandaging hurt like a bloody bitch, and Nigel's shirt was clotted to the wound. First, Ron cut the bloody sleeve off Nigel's shirt, and down the length of it, to make it easier to peel. Then he dabbed antiseptic potion on the blood, trying to soften the scabs. "Sorry," he muttered, and then tugged, hard.

Nigel didn't so much as twitch. Relieved, Ron went straight to cleaning the cut, which had started bleeding again as soon as the sleeve was gone. While he worked, Ron refused to think of his erstwhile patient in terms of names, refused to think of this being Nigel he was tending, because he could feel one part of his mind threatening to panic at how pear-shaped everything had gone. Poultice and bandage applied, Ron sat back on his heels and cast a few cleaning charms to get the worst of the blood off the both of them. Nigel was going to be woozy enough when he woke, and blood splatter always looked far worse than it was.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel's arm was throbbing, a slow deep _thump_ that seemed to echo through his entire body, and god, but he did not want to wake up to see what it was. The closer he got to full consciousness, the more he remembered, and when his mind helpfully supplied the memory of actually getting shot, Nigel came awake with a harsh gasp, sitting straight up. His movement jarred his arm, which sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through him. Fighting his nausea, Nigel lay carefully back down. "Ron?" Nigel refused to label the emotion clawing through him as panic. Where was the kid? Did they get him too? " _Ron!_ "

As soon as Nigel woke, Ron did too. He'd been dozing lightly in a chair, transfigured quickly and half-arsed from a part of the cavern wall; it dug into Ron's backside uncomfortably, but as someone who had a lot of experience with hospital chairs, Ron didn't mind all that much. When he heard the panic in Nigel's voice, though, Ron was there in a flash, kneeling on the ground next to Nigel's cot, a comforting hand on his shoulder, pressing him back.

"Are you trying to give us away?" Ron asked with a laugh. "And after all that work I did to fix you?"

"Sorry," Nigel breathed, relaxing back. "It's just - fuck." It was the pain and blood loss making him weak, not the relief of having Ron next to him, laughing. Nigel reached with his good hand to cup Ron's face, ignoring the snort of disbelief in the back of his mind. _Shut up, Bill_. "Are you alright? Did they get you too?"

Ron closed his eyes for a second, leaning into Nigel's hand before turning to kiss his palm once. Worry still fluttered in his stomach, and probably would until Nigel recovered a bit more from the shock. "Nah," he said, clearing his throat and checking Nigel's bandage. "I'm too young and spry for them. Do you want anything for the pain? Thirsty?"

Nigel snorted. "It's those fucking legs, is what. Bloody long." He swallowed and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he finally whispered. God, he _hurt_. And his throat felt as though he'd eaten sand for a week. "Something. And water. Sorry, Ron."

Ignoring Nigel's apology, Ron re-sized one of their canteens and poured some water into the cap. "Here you go," he said, sliding an arm under Nigel's shoulders to help him up. "I can't give you anything too strong, I'm afraid. I don't fancy you going into shock on me. I can numb it a bit, though. It won't be so bad in an couple of days, anyhow; not once you're used to it."

"Just take the edge off, I can deal with it." Nigel, mindful of his still roiling stomach, sipped slowly at the water. It was quite simply the best water he'd ever tasted, and he kept drinking until he'd emptied the cap. "Did the bullet go through or is it still in my arm?"

"Right on through," Ron said, settling Nigel back against the cot again. He pulled at the bandage. "Let me check it while you're awake enough to tell me if there's anything I ought to know." Carefully, Ron unwound the bandage and lifted the pads he'd placed over the entrance and exit wounds. "Shouldn't scar too badly," he murmured, reaching for a numbing ointment. "And you bled enough that I don't think we need to worry about foreign elements getting in." He looked up at Nigel, worry in his eyes and brow deeply furrowed. "Just do us a favour and avoid getting shot again, yeah? I'm too old for those sorts of scares."

Nigel raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were young and spry," he said, managing a wry look. "I'll do my best not to wander in front of any stray bullets in future. It's only, getting shot is so much fun."

"Young and spry compared to you," Ron said, tugging a bit more firmly than necessary on Nigel's bandage. He didn't understand why he was so anxious about this, not when he'd gotten through worse, including the time Harry'd been hit by that hex, fallen and broken his thigh bone. Damn thing had been moving around under the muscle and skin, and Ron had been the only one about to make sure Harry didn't make it worse. But then again, bullets were an entirely different matter. There was no counter-spell to that sort of evil, only ways to react after the fact, and no amount of training would save anyone's life if they got shot in the heart. Which was far too close to where Nigel _had_ been shot for Ron's comfort. "I think I found the caves you were hoping for, by the by," he said, forcing a smile. "And I'll even let you go exploring in a bit, once I'm sure you won't faint on me again."

"Oh, joy. Thanks, Dad." Nigel's eyes had closed without his permission, and he forced them open again. He looked up at Ron and added seriously, "Good job, Ron. We'll find the statue and you'll be well rid of me." He closed his eyes deliberately this time and added, "Wake me in an hour, yeah? We'll be home for dinner."

"Yeah, all right." Ron swallowed heavily around a lump in his throat. He couldn't believe it was almost over, not when a few days ago he'd been so certain the job was going to last forever. And then this morning, when he woke tangled in Nigel's arms, Ron had let himself hope that it might. But Nigel needed medical attention, not first aid, and Ron needed to think long and hard about things that he'd been ignoring as best as he could, knowing that here and now wasn't the time for self-dissection.

Widening the cot, Ron climbed in with Nigel, curling against his uninjured side. Knowing he wouldn't be able to do much more than doze with his senses on alert like this, Ron kissed the side of Nigel's face. "Sleep well," he breathed, not expecting to be heard.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn't, of course, that easy. Nigel woke with a fever and, although not delirious, he was confused and cranky. He refused to get off the cot that afternoon, and refused to stay in it the next morning, even though he was weak enough that he couldn't stand for long periods. That voice in the back of his mind that sounded so like Bill noted Ron's extraordinary patience and Nigel's extraordinary childishness, but Nigel told it flatly that he was entitled to be cranky, he'd been fucking _shot_ , and to shut up.

After a day of that, and another night sleeping securely wrapped around Ron, Nigel felt strong enough to explore, although he had to stop frequently to sit, grumbling the entire time. The network of caves (with not a vault to be found anywhere _at all_ , and the goblins would be hearing about that at great length when he got home, the little fuckers) was quite extensive, and Nigel began to worry that they might be in here for days or even weeks before locating the niche holding the statue. Nigel went back to his notes frequently, hoping to find clues as to where the statue was, but the ancient documents he'd been given talked only of a vault. Nigel began to suspect that the "vault" was a specific cave, probably hidden behind charms and spells, and that he'd once again been given only the bare minimum of information, hence the complete lack of reference to the cave network. Fucking secretive goblins.

"I'm going to try searching with some specific spells tomorrow," Nigel said to Ron that night. He'd used a few general sort of spells, and although he'd gotten a few sparks here and there, there'd been nothing to indicate a full out hidden cavern. And he was tired and his arm hurt. The more intensive spells he'd use in the morning would take a lot of energy, energy he just didn't have tonight. "But I need to sleep first."

Ron grunted affirmatively, stirring their dinner. Glancing over at Nigel, Ron did his best to hide his concern, but he knew the longer they went without getting Nigel proper treatment, the more likely it was that there would be complications. "You let me know if there's anything I can do." It was not a question. Serving them both a portion of the oats, Ron brought Nigel's bowl over to him. "How's your arm?"

"Sore." Nigel glanced involuntarily at it, almost as if he'd see the hole there through the bandage and his shirt. He'd poked at it a bit, once he'd wandered off enough that Ron couldn't see, and when he'd worked his fingers under the bandage to prod, his skin had felt hot around the wound. Which meant both healing and possible infection, which concerned Nigel some but not a lot. Not yet. But he didn't want to talk about it. There wasn't anything they could do until he'd found the statue anyway, because going back without it meant unemployment and he knew it. He took the bowl from Ron and smiled up at him. "Not what you signed on for, I know. Bored?"  
"I'm good at entertaining myself," Ron said, gut clenching briefly at the distinctly carnal edge to Nigel's smile. Sitting, Ron tried to shove the _want_ to the side, but it wasn't easy, not after two perfectly chaste nights despite his damn body's insistence that he was right _there_ , so why not just... Coughing slightly and ducking his head to hide the warm stain on his cheeks, Ron sat, close enough to bump knees with Nigel. "But I like having other people to distract me, it's true."

"We'll get you back to your distractions soon, I promise." Nigel nudged Ron with one knee and sighed. "If we don't find it in a couple more days we'll head back. I'm starting to think it's a figment of some goblin's imagination anyway." He made a face and stirred his oats. "Besides, I want a steak."  
"Hmph," Ron said, scowling for a moment and then brightening considerably. "Well, I could restock our supplies while you see a mediwitch, I reckon. And now that we've got a better idea of what's what, I could apply for some special circumstances permits to make it easier when we come back."

"Ron," Nigel said quietly, "we wouldn't be coming back. If I don't find the statue, and the goblins still believe it exists, they won't give me a second stab at it." He nudged Ron's knee again. "Once in a lifetime, you know."

Reaching out, Ron covered Nigel's knee with a large hand and squeezed. He'd never seen Nigel work before, but something told him that Nigel was not a man to give up easily on a job. It was something Ron could understand. "Then we'll just have to find it, won't we?" he asked, smiling gently and squeezing again before slowly pulling his hand away.

Nigel reached out to grab Ron's hand, tangling their fingers. "Yeah," he agreed, although he wasn't at all sure they would. He managed a smile. Negativity and doubt were not like him, and Nigel knew it was partly a result of his injury and weakness, the bone deep tiredness that had little to do with how much sleep he got. The other part was the thought of going home and not living in Ron's pockets anymore. And since when had Nigel needed anyone else?

"Do you mind doing the clean up again tonight? I know it's long past my turn for it, and I'll make it up to you." Nigel set his bowl down half finished. He just wasn't hungry. "I need a good night's sleep or I won't be able to work the spells I have to use tomorrow, so I think I'll go to bed now. If, of course, you don't mind." Nigel sent Ron a crooked smile. "I could do it, only I'm lazy."

Ron pulled their hands to his mouth and nipped at the pad of Nigel's thumb. "Lazy git," he said, smiling fondly. Not letting go of Nigel's hand just yet, Ron leant over and kissed him, forcing himself to pull back before giving into the urge to nibble on Nigel's lower lip. "Go on to bed, then. I'll be along in a bit."

Nigel followed Ron as he pulled back, kissing him again softly. "Thanks," Nigel whispered against Ron's lips, pressing their foreheads together briefly. Giving Ron another short kiss, he disentangled himself reluctantly, squeezing Ron's hand one last time before letting go. Nigel was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Licking his lips absently and tasting Nigel there, Ron charmed the bowls clean and banked the fire before toeing off his hiking boots and climbing into bed. The hard cot been improved on after the first morning when he realised Nigel's injury was going to keep them there for a while. Ron sighed as he curled against Nigel's side, the familiar smell and warmth missed even though they'd been bumping elbows all day. It still seemed like it had been days instead of hours since they'd touched -- _properly_ \-- and Ron couldn't help that his body was so acutely aware of Nigel now, especially after those kisses that hadn't been nearly enough.

Ron felt warm, almost too-warm, and after a while of not being able to settle down, no matter how good Nigel felt, Ron climbed out of bed. Running his hand through his hair, Ron looked over at Nigel and decided it was worth playing with fire and torturing himself, especially if he was going to get any rest and be of any help at all tomorrow. Quickly, and quietly so as not to wake Nigel, Ron stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and got back in bed, tucking the blanket up around them.

"Much better," Ron sighed, nose buried in Nigel's hair and one leg curled around him. The only remaining problem was that Nigel was dressed in everything but his boots and socks. Knowing this wouldn't do, Ron pushed up Nigel's shirt, purring in contentment as he felt the other man's warm, smooth skin. "God, you feel good," he sighed, kissing Nigel's hairline and rubbing his hand in slow circles over Nigel's stomach.

Nigel moaned softly, putting his hand over Ron's and pressing it into his stomach. "Ron," he sighed, still asleep, but beginning to dream of being touched, of losing control the way only Ron had ever made him do. In dreams he could admit that it wasn't simple want, that he actually _needed_ Ron and for more than just sex. That _just sex_ would never be the same again. He turned in Ron's arms, kissed him slowly. " _Ron._ "

"Nigel," Ron breathed, hand flat against Nigel's back, fingers flirting with the waist of Nigel's jeans. Nigel was so pliant in his arms, asleep and still wanting Ron, and Ron couldn't help himself, couldn't resist kissing Nigel back, pressing against him, slowly pushing him onto his back once more, kissing him again and again. "Go on and sleep, love," he shushed, kissing down Nigel's neck, legs on either side of Nigel's hips.

Leaving small, tender kisses down Nigel's neck, Ron moved lower, promising himself he'd stop soon and let Nigel rest. But instead, he found himself unbuttoning Nigel's shirt and kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. Each kiss was a claim on Nigel's sleeping body, and by the time he'd made his meandering way all the way down to Nigel's stomach, Ron couldn't think much beyond the warmth of the body under him, the way Nigel smelled, the way he tasted. Ron _needed_ to have a piece of Nigel, to have Nigel in so many more ways than just this... not that he let himself stop and think about that, of course. Instead, Ron circled his tongue around Nigel's navel, softly whispering, "It's a dream, love," as though he were afraid that if Nigel woke, Ron would lose what he'd just taken.

"Yeah," Nigel agreed softly, "s'dream." He shifted under Ron's mouth, sighing as he eased back into sleep. Wakefulness was lapping at his mind the way a wave rolls into shore, reaching the sand before receding. He felt so good, lazy, _right_. He dreamed they were home and Ron was his, and one hand moved to cup the back of Ron's head. "S'good."

"Gets better," Ron said, unable to help the small smile as he settled between Nigel's legs, nuzzling at the top button of Nigel's flies. "Much better." Licking his lips, Ron undid the button and pulled down the zip, tugging down jeans and pants, freeing Nigel's cock. But instead of just sucking him down like he wanted to, Ron nosed along Nigel's length, learning the scent of him, dark and familiar already. "Nigel..." Ron groaned, his own cock hard as he pressed a hot and open-mouthed kiss to the hot base of Nigel's cock.

Nigel echoed Ron's groan, spreading his legs further apart, buttocks tensing to lift himself into the caress. His eyelashes fluttered as he fought consciousness. Waking meant an end to the dreamy pleasure and, more importantly, an end to letting Ron have control. Nigel's breath caught as his body tensed, then relaxed again.

Hands soothing, Ron mouthed his way up Nigel's cock, lips sliding over his head, and tongue swiping firmly to taste _Nigel_. Moaning softly in pleasure, Ron licked again, wanting more, and when there wasn't just yet, he opened his mouth wider and took Nigel deeper, bobbing his head slowly, haltingly. It had been a bloody lifetime since he'd done this, but somehow Ron still remembered what to do, how to curve his hand under Nigel's hip, to cup his arse, squeezing. With his other hand, Ron reached down between his own legs, cupping his raging erection with a deep and gutteral sound.

Nigel _felt_ that noise, the vibrations buzzing around his cock and adding to the incredible sensation of having Ron's mouth surrounding him. He was definitely awake now but he couldn't breathe and couldn't think, could only feel. "More, I - fuck. Please, _Ron_." Nigel's head swam and he arched his neck, gasping. He'd pull Ron up, roll them over and fuck Ron until they both exploded, in just a minute. Just a - oh god, that felt so _good_. Nigel's hand tightened in Ron's hair.

Ron hummed, swallowing around Nigel, trying to take him deeper and not sure he could. But then he remembered how, and relaxed his throat and went down, down, _down_ until his long nose touched dark and wiry curls. Nigel fit perfectly in Ron's mouth, just like he did everywhere else, and Ron slid his hand into his boxers, stroking himself as he swallowed once more before bringing his head up, lips wrapped tightly around the crown and tongue swirling wickedly. Then, with a needy groan, Ron swallowed all the way to the root, squeezing Nigel's arse. He wanted to tell Nigel how hot this was making him, how he couldn't believe they hadn't gotten around to this sooner, but that would have meant losing that hot, hard length in his mouth. Growling possessively, Ron moved his head steadily, wanting to keep this as long as he could and a lifetime longer, if he could get away with it.

"Oh god." Nigel rode the crashing waves of pleasure, helpless to do anything else. He'd been pulled from sleep straight into pleasure and his brain hadn't caught up before completely melting. What was left of it was trying to remind him that he was in charge, always in charge, but it was muffled by the roaring sound of his blood racing. "Gonna - I can't," Nigel gasped. "Fuck." He forced his eyes open and looked down, watched his cock disappear between Ron's lips, and that was all it took. His body spasmed as he broke, the world graying out around him until all there was was Ron.

Swallowing his mouthful of come, Ron noted that it didn't taste nearly as bad as he remembered. Hand still pumping fiercely up and down his own cock, Ron hummed and licked until Nigel was clean, and then rolled to the side. "You taste..." he moaned, the thought incomplete because the only thing Nigel tasted like was _Nigel_. Flat on his back, one knee raised, Ron kept pulling and stroking, the red and leaking tip of his cock peeking out on the down stroke. "M'gonna come," he gasped, free hand clenching in the bedding, back and neck arching wantonly as he bit his lower lip. " _Nigel_..."

Nigel shifted down until his head was touching Ron's, their bodies side by side, wincing as he lifted his sore arm across his body to cup Ron's neck and then his jaw. "Come for me, Ron," Nigel whispered lazily, tugging Ron's lip from between his teeth with the rough pad of his thumb. The hand pressed between them slid over Ron's thigh. "You're so beautiful when you break."

"Not... not like you," Ron whimpered and turned his head, blindly seeking Nigel's mouth. "Kiss me," he begged, hand moving erratically. He was gone, the taste of Nigel's come still lingering on his tongue, and Ron was _there_ , hanging on the edge. "Love your kiss."

When Nigel kissed him, it completed the circuit, the last thing that Ron needed to let go. Ron grunted and tore his mouth away as he arched off the bed and came, mouth open and eyes wide as he shattered, his hot spunk coating his fingers and splattering on his stomach. " _Nigel_ ," he gasped, shuddering and collapsing once more, hand still working his softening cock through the last of his aftershocks.

"Perfect," Nigel murmured, rolling on his side to curve around Ron, his hand sliding down Ron's neck and chest to smear through the mess on Ron's stomach. "So bloody perfect." He kissed Ron's cheek and whispered a cleaning spell, then nuzzled at Ron's ear. "Sleep," he said. "Sleep with me."

He'd think later, Nigel promised himself, about this odd urge to call Ron _baby_ , the possessiveness that was getting out of control. The fact that Ron had directed this entire encounter and that Nigel had been unable to take over. Nigel frowned at that last and pushed the thought away for _later_ , because he had no brain to think with at the moment anyway. He started to drift, not quite asleep, but getting there.

Ron laughed softly and curled into Nigel's embrace, pushing his open shirt aside to kiss warm skin. "You've got it," he murmured, exhausted from a long day of exploring and worrying and drained from the sex. "Have anything now. Night," he added with a yawn, twining their limbs together lazily, mindful of Nigel's injured arm even this close to sleep, and then sighed, relaxing as he slipped away.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~~~*~~~

Apparently his mind had been thinking while the rest of him slept, because Nigel woke wrapped around Ron with the knowledge that there was no where else he'd rather be and no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with. Even shot and with no _real_ food. He breathed out a soft breath of humourless laughter. Bill would fall over laughing at him, and then kill him. His arms tightened around Ron before he forced himself to let go, carefully untangling their limbs, trying to rise without waking Ron.

Really, Nigel thought as he fixed their breakfast a short time later, there was no reason Bill should ever know, because they'd go back to Britain and Ron would go back to his _distractions_ , and they wouldn't be here alone anymore. They wouldn't be in the hyped sort of situation they were in now, where everything seems magnified and if you can't shag your partner, your hand is your best friend. Ron's experiment would be over, and he - well, maybe he was caught up in the moment too. Maybe once they got back he'd be normal again and out trolling the clubs like he always did after a job.

Nigel caught himself staring at Ron still asleep in their bed and pushed away the thought that the clubs held little appeal any more. _Find the statue_ , he told himself firmly as he turned back to the food, which was nearly done. _Everything else will sort itself out somehow._

Ron woke finally, fingers patting the bed slowly, looking for Nigel and his warmth. When he came up empty-handed, Ron cracked an eye open to see Nigel puttering about, making their breakfast. Smiling smugly, Ron thought that he should have tried sleeping late ages ago if that meant Nigel would take over cooking duties. _I wonder what it would take to get him to make breakfast all the time_ , Ron thought, stretching slowly. _He could cook and I could be a bloke of leisure in mornings. Except mornings after I've worn him out, 'course..._

It was right about the time that Ron caught himself picturing Nigel wearing his favourite Cannons t-shirt, with the violent orange faded and muted from countless washings and the bottom hem starting to unravel as the soft material stretched across his chest and shoulders, broader than Ron's, that Ron realised what he was doing. He was planning on there being more of this when they got back. Counting on it, even, despite the fact that they shouldn't have had even this much and despite the fact that Nigel had made it clear that he intellectually didn't want this, even if he _was_ too randy to resist temptation. Not to mention that up until recently, Ron had been absolutely sure that he was straight.

Rolling onto his back, Ron sighed quietly. He didn't know what would happen when they got home and things went back to normal, but what Ron did know was that he wanted a chance to try this out in the real world, far from oats and fires and mad Muggles with guns. Maybe it wouldn't work out, and maybe Ron would find that blokes still weren't his thing (though Ron knew that wouldn't happen, not when he hadn't felt this comfortable with himself in who _knew_ how long), but Ron realised that there wasn't anything he wanted more than to give whatever this was between he and Nigel a chance. Although, really, Ron was beginning to suspect he knew what it was rapidly becoming.

Ron had once, a lifetime ago, told Hermione he loved her. It was true then and it was still true now, but it wasn't like this, which Ron reckoned was a good thing, since now he could only look at Hermione with brotherly affection and nothing more. What he felt now was different and more and terrifying and absolutely wonderful, and a smile flickered across his face as Ron decided he'd mention this when he talked to Nigel later about them giving it a proper go when they got home. He didn't _really_ know for certain what it would be once the feeling finished growing, but then again, Ron wasn't nearly as stupid as he liked to let most people think.

Nigel heard Ron's sigh and grabbed their bowls, filling them with the oats and taking them to the bed. "Don't expect breakfast in bed again, this is a one time offer." He managed a grin and hoped it looked carefree and casual. He handed Ron a bowl and sat on the edge of the bed to eat his own. "This could take me all day, but I should know one way or the other by dinner time whether or not I can find the vault and the statue." Nigel didn't look up from his bowl. He was starting to realise that he didn't actually want this job to be over.

"Mmm..." Ron hummed. Nigel would find the statue, if only because Ron was pretty sure Nigel had never been one to accept failure as an option. And if Nigel found the statue, then they'd be leaving soon. Swallowing heavily and managing a half smile, Ron looked over at Nigel and let a real grin slip just because Ron honestly enjoyed looking at him. "I should change your bandage before we head out, though. Make sure you haven't done something rude like developed infection _and_ get a chance to paw all over you; my idea of a fun morning, you know?"

That made Nigel look over at Ron with a wry look, one eyebrow raised. "We?" he asked. "This isn't really something you can help with, you aren't trained for it."

"Will I be a bother while I'm watching out for your life, then?" Ron countered. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been shot recently. And those who did it are still wandering about."

Nigel grumbled under his breath for a few moments. "Fine," he finally said. "Just stay out of the way."

"I'll do what I can," Ron grumbled back, suddenly not very hungry at all. Stabbing his spoon into the oats, Ron set his bowl aside and got out of bed to dress. He pulled on his jeans and buttoned them quickly before gathering the supplies for Nigel's wound. "Ready when you are and if it won't be too much trouble," he said, and then contradicted himself by turning to clean up some of the breakfast mess. He was over-reacting, and he knew it, but he couldn't help feeling rejected and Ron suddenly wasn't so sure it would be the best of ideas to talk to Nigel about the things he'd been thinking only moments earlier.

"The spells are _dangerous_ ," Nigel growled, moving fast, grabbing Ron and gripping both his biceps. "What you can do is stay back and not _get hurt._ " Nigel shook Ron slightly with each of the last two words and then kissed him, hard.

Ron blinked, holding stiff in Nigel's arms for a second before kissing him back, growling, "The fuck is your problem this morning?" against his lips and not really expecting an answer. And instead of waiting for one, Ron just dove in for another hard kiss, trying to shove away the sting of rejection.

Nigel let go of Ron's arms to shove his fingers into red hair that needed a trim and hold Ron still while he devoured Ron's mouth. "Not a morning person," Nigel mumbled. He bit Ron's lower lip and tugged at it. "Gotta - damn - find the statue." Turning them, Nigel pushed Ron against the hard rock of the cave wall and pinned him there with the solid strength of his body. "Sorry," he whispered into yet another kiss. "Sorry."  
"Should be," Ron whispered back in a rough voice. Hands fisting in Nigel's shirt, Ron pulled him closer, kissing him hard and sucking on his tongue briefly. "I want to be there if you're there," he added, trying to gentle the kiss. "That's all."

Nigel let Ron slow them down, finally breaking from the last kiss to rest his forehead against Ron's. "You can be there while I'm looking," he finally said. "But when I have to break into the vault itself, you'll have to go. At least around a corner if there is one, or into the next cave if there isn't. I don't know what will come flying back at me, and I can't shield us both, and you can't learn the sort of shielding spells you'd need to know in less than three months minimum. Please, Ron, don't argue with me, not on this."

Ron closed his eyes and _sagged_ , but didn't fight. He'd learned, back when he and his friends were trying to save the world, that sometimes you had to take what you could get when trying to save stubborn prats. Even if he _had_ learned extremely extensive shielding spells back then, thanks to many hours' working with Bill in one of the dusty and empty rooms in Grimmauld Place. "Well enough. I can watch your back from that far behind, I reckon," he said, pushing firmly at Nigel and freeing himself. "You done eating, then?" Ron didn't look at Nigel, just jammed his hands into his pockets as he waited.

"Now who's the one with a problem?" Nigel said softly. But he didn't bother trying to explain any further. He knew Weasley stubborn and those snits well enough, after more than a decade of working with Bill. But what was mildly infuriating in Bill was somehow just cute in Ron, and Nigel fought the urge to either pat Ron on the head or pull him into a hug, neither of which would be well received at the moment. A fond smile tugging at his mouth, Nigel gathered the dishes and put out the fire, then spelled everything clean. He shrunk their gear, changed the bed back to a cot and shrunk it too, then packed everything away. They would leave tonight either way.  
"You are," Ron bit off, crossing his arms and scowling. "But we've already talked about that."

Nigel sighed. Maybe this was better. If Ron were angry. It might make going home easier. He didn't quite understand where the anger was coming from - he was trained for this, and all Ron's anger wouldn't make up for the fact that Ron was not. Still, the anger was definitely apparent. The urge to go to Ron, to hold him and coax him out of his anger, was getting stronger. _Don't be angry, baby, please._ Nigel bit back the words and put their packed gear against the wall where it would wait until they left their hideaway. _Hideout_ , Nigel corrected himself. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Let's go," Nigel said quietly, turning to lead the way deeper into the caves.

But Ron didn't budge. "What do I do when I'm working?" he asked instead, still not quite looking at Nigel, but needing to make him understand. "What did I do during the war, Nigel?"

"What?" Nigel turned back, confused. "I, er." He tried to remember if Bill had said what Ron did during the war, and couldn't think of a time he had. "I don't know what exactly you did during the war, but your job is an Auror. Whatever it is you do, you do it well, at least from what Bill has said. You lot are Dark wizard catchers, yeah?"

Ron sneered and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _Dark wizard catchers_. And investigators. And crawling in our bellies in mud and muck to stop them from doing all sorts of vile things like killing people and fucking up our world again so I don't have to do again what I started doing when I was seventeen fucking years old and sure I was going to die at any minute. So I don't have to be a fucking assassin again after all this time." He wheeled on Nigel, eyes flashing and face a blotchy red but voice strangely calm. "How do you reckon I lived through hiding from Death Eaters, chasing after Harry while he was working on getting things in order to kill Voldemort? Pure dumb Weasley luck?"

Ah. Nigel understood a bit what the problem was now, but at the same time, he was getting angry himself. And scared. Ron was determined to get hurt, and Nigel wasn't going to be able to stop him. "Look. I'm not impugning your abilities. Bill tells me frequently how bloody _brilliant_ you are, how talented, and everything else. But you aren't a cursebreaker. I'm sorry, that's just truth. But fine. What the bloody fuck ever. If you're determined to get in the way, then by all means. Stand right behind me when I open the goddamn vault and let a three _thousand_ year old curse smack you in the face because you don't speak the language it was cast in. Just don't complain when your skin starts to fall off in a few days and the mediwitches can't help you because there isn't a cure for it. Now, can we please get the bloody job done so you can go back to saving the world?"

Ron's hand balled into a fist, the old, instinctive urge to hurt back any way he could surfacing. But instead, he huffed out a long breath and rocked his head from side to side, cracking his neck repeatedly. "I was trained by a cursebreaker, you pompous control freak," he finally said, forcing his eyes to be hard and cold despite how much this strange lump in the middle of his chest was killing him. "And you could have just asked me to stay out of the way and I would have, since I know Bill didn't teach me everything he knew in the _year_ he was tutoring me." Rolling his shoulders back and pulling his pride on like another layer of clothing, Ron headed for the tunnel. "So if you're done treating me like some sort of burden to bear, a child to mind because Bill's _keeper_ wouldn't let him come out and play, you've a statue to find and I've a life to get back to."

 _ _What the fuck am I doing?_ Ron's mind screamed, but it was too late to take it back now, wasn't it? _

Nigel watched him go, dumbfounded. He wondered first when Bill had trained Ron and why neither one of them had ever said so to Nigel, and then realised it had to have been just after Bill had transferred back to Britain. "Never a burden," he whispered. _I just didn't want you injured, Ron. I couldn't bear it._

His next breath shuddered in painfully, as if he were breathing glass instead of air. He sucked it in anyway. As Ron walked away from him, Nigel finally admitted to himself that he was in love. With his best mate's baby brother. He'd overreacted, had been, as Ron had said, a pompous control freak, because he wanted to protect the young man he loved. Who was, Nigel thought wryly, obviously confident in his ability to protect himself. And who was straight back home, when he had options. Nigel suddenly felt at least twice, if not three times, his thirty-three years.

Forcing one heavy foot in front of the other, Nigel followed Ron into the tunnel, picking up his pace enough to overtake Ron but without a word as he passed. For the first time in his life, Nigel had nothing to say.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel rolled his shoulders and took a slow, deep breath, then began the complicated series of spells that would negate the layers of charms that had been intricately linked to hide the vault entrance. It had taken several hours and far too much energy, but Nigel had finally hit paydirt. Sweat beaded at his temples and then began to roll down the side of his face, but his concentration never wavered.

He gasped and staggered back as the first layer finally broke, then braced himself and started on the next. He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally felt the last layer start to give, but his clothes were soaked with sweat and his legs were shaking. He broke through, and his knees gave out. Nigel fell, landing on all fours, his head hanging down as he gasped as if he'd been running all day instead of casting spells. This had honestly been the hardest job he'd ever done, the hardest break he'd ever accomplished, and he hadn't been sure he was going to make it towards the end. Nigel thought vaguely that it was a damn good thing the curses had begun to deteriorate, otherwise he wouldn't have. It would have taken a team of breakers, and he probably should have had a team anyway.

There was a deep rumbling noise from the cave, and then the large doors swung open as if they'd never been sealed at all. Nigel began to swear under his breath. Goddamn fucking goblins, who put him through this, who didn't give him the information or support he needed to do the job _they_ had sent him on. Goddamn fucking ancient curses, and goddamn fucking doors that open nice as you please. Nigel let himself tip over and rolled onto his back, eyes closed, still panting. God, he needed to sleep a week straight.

From his spot around the corner, Ron heard the noise, and cautiously poked his head around to investigate. Not trusting a wall to actually protect him, Ron had set up his most solid shields before Nigel had even started. Not that Nigel would notice, because that would mean that Ron might be a grown up, now wouldn't it? No, Nigel would rather have his fun fucking Bill's baby brother and making him feel like a useless piece of baggage, Ron had decided at some point while stewing in his own juices as Nigel sniffed out the vault. The anger made it easier to keep going, to keep cool and to keep from sliding into Nigel's arms and letting himself believe that everything was fine.

But all those thoughts were gone in the instant Ron saw Nigel flat on his back, on the ground. There in a flash, Ron cupped the side of Nigel's clammy face, scarcely daring to breathe until he felt Nigel's steady pulse with his other hand. "Were you raised in a barn, Nige?" he said, teasing weakly and not able to move away now that he was touching Nigel again. "Leaving doors open wide like that..."

Nigel laughed weakly. "Fuck you," he said, turning his face into Ron's hand. He opened his eyes to smile up at Ron, unable to keep the astonished pride over his - _their_ \- accomplishment out of his expression. "We did it," he murmured. Letting his eyes close again, Nigel swallowed and sighed. So tired. "Have to check the room for traps, and check the statue itself. Give me a few minutes, and we'll go in."

And just like that, it didn't matter that they'd rowed. Ron grinned and leant in, kissing Nigel lightly. "Lazy," he said, touching their foreheads together.

"Told you I was," Nigel said with a smirk. He lifted his hand, fingertips brushing Ron's cheek briefly before falling to his side again. Nigel absolutely did not want to ask, but he knew he'd need a lot more than a few minutes otherwise. "Hit me with an Enervate, would you?"

Ron scowled, not liking it but not arguing at all as he pulled out his wand and did as Nigel asked. "How's about letting me go in first, then?" he asked, helping Nigel up. "I can feel things are weak, even from here; I can handle it."

Nigel let Ron help him up. "No, I can do it. This part's easy." Nigel forced himself to step away from Ron's support. His stride was slower than usual, but he made it to the door without assistance. A quick swish and flick, and Nigel grinned back at Ron, leaning against the door frame. "We're good. Help me in, I want to hold this bloody piece of history that indirectly put a hole in my arm."

Shaking his head at Nigel at the notion that he'd even bothered to try and help, Ron went over and wrapped an arm around Nigel's waist, coaxing him to lift his arm over Ron's shoulders. "Personally, I'd rather hold a bloody piece of the blokes that are directly responsible for it," he said, turning slightly to face Nigel. "I rather fancy you in one piece." _Speaking of_... "Look, I was thinking we ought to talk. Not about before, but... you know..."

And there it was. Nigel felt his heart sink, sure Ron was going to tell him it had been fun, parts of it at least, but that they both knew it was just a thing, just circumstances. After all, what bloke wouldn't go along with no strings sex? "I know." Nigel debated, then said, "Not just now, though, yeah? Let's get the job finished, and get clear of those blokes. Then there'll be time for it."

Ron heard the tired note in Nigel's voice, but refused to think about it just now. Not when he'd been so busy sulking all day that he'd wasted all that time when he could have been touching Nigel. "Later, then," he said softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of Nigel's mouth, nosing at his cheek.

Nigel turned to put his other arm around Ron, just holding the younger man. He rested his forehead on Ron's shoulder and breathed in. It was ending too fast and Nigel couldn't stop it. "Right," he finally said, straightening and pulling away. "There should be a shrine carved into the far wall, the statue will be there." The cave was deep enough that their light didn't extend all the way in, and Nigel couldn't see the statue yet.

It felt like Nigel took all the air in the room with him when he moved away, and Ron barely managed to resist the urge to pull him back. Instead, Ron just tightened his arm about Nigel's waist and summoned a smile. "Then what are we standing around here for, you lazy prat?" he asked, squinting into the shadows.

"We're waiting for you to start walking, kid," Nigel said. He didn't wait, though, taking a slow step forward and leaving Ron to decide whether to come along or be dragged. He came, as Nigel had known he would, and they made their way forward until they stood before a simple shrine, the centre of which was a plain statue carved of dark wood. Nigel lifted his wand and removed the last shreds of the curses and protections that had not stood up to the passing of time. He pulled free of Ron and took the last step forward, arm reaching to reverently remove the statue. Holding it in one hand, Nigel ran his fingertips over the carved face.

Ron was about to make a joke about booby-trapped shrines and a Muggle "moomee" he'd seen once before, where lifting a statue made a giant stone ball drop from the ceiling, but then he looked at the statue and gave a full-bodied shudder of revulsion. "A _spider_?!" he asked, voice raising a few more notes than strictly necessary. "No one said anything about bloody _spiders_." He shuddered again and took a step back, muttering, "Beastly things, all furry and far too many legs. Nothing needs that many legs, I tell you. Nothing."

Nigel turned to tease Ron, and the honest horror and fear in his face stopped the words immediately. "Accio case," he said instead, deftly catching the small box that flew from his gear. He enlarged it, opened it, and carefully settled the statue inside. Closing it, he secured it, and smiled gently at Ron. "No, I suppose not. We've finished, Ron, we can go home now."

Home. Nigel had the stray thought that obviously he'd be the one killing the spiders in their house, followed by the thought that they wouldn't have a house. His stomach rolled and he bent his head to hide his expression as he began to make his slow and unsteady way back to their gear.

Ron lingered back, scowling in confusion; Nigel was acting strangely. Well, more so than usual. He didn't know what to make of it, and at the same time, Ron could sense the wall between them, and he didn't know how to get around it. Everything just felt so... awkward. Not knowing what else to do, and trusting Nigel not to push him away, Ron closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around Nigel's waist, supporting him without another word.

Nigel let himself lean into Ron, let himself savour the warmth of the long lanky body next to his for what he was sure would be the last time. Their time out of time was over, and now Ron would go back to his "distractions", and Nigel would - what? He honestly didn't know, but he suspected it would involve alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

By the time they had their gear gathered and the statue carefully packed away, Ron was on edge, unable to keep from closing in on Nigel and cupping the back of his head, touching their foreheads together. "I'd offer we rest before getting far enough from the left over magic to portkey, but I'd rather not row about how healthy you are or aren't," he said, tilting his head and kissing Nigel almost hesitantly.

Nigel kissed him back slowly, putting one hand on his waist and lifting the other to cradle his face. "I won't row," Nigel whispered, and huffed a soft laugh into Ron's mouth. "I'm too tired."

Ron stepped closer, nibbling gently on Nigel's lower lip. "You're lucky I'm honourable," he murmured, grinning. "Or I might take advantage of you being biddable for a change."

"Not biddable," Nigel said wryly. "Never that." He nosed along Ron's jaw and then rested his forehead on Ron's shoulder, closing his eyes. "But I have to sleep. I'm sorry." And he was, deeply sorry for so many things, but he couldn't be sorry about Ron. He knew he should be, and that Bill would probably try to make him sorry, but he couldn't regret it. Ron made him laugh, and didn't seem to care that he talked too much or was just a bit loony. Ron made him _feel_ , so much. Ron made him more.

Nigel pulled slowly away to ease back against the cave wall, sliding down the rock until he was sitting on the floor. He leaned over sideways, kept leaning until he was flat on the ground. "Twenty minutes," Nigel mumbled. "Promise."

Laughing softly, Ron sat on the tunnel floor and pulled Nigel's head into his lap, carding long fingers, covered in freckles, through Nigel's thick hair. "Take all the time you need, love," he murmured, absently thinking that Nigel really needed a trim.

"Maybe thirty, then," Nigel said, putting one hand on Ron's knee. He yawned, mumbled something that was meant to be "Thanks, Ron," and fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	7. Chapter 7

~~~*~~~

 

Ron picked a steady path through the tunnel, aware of Nigel at his back and knowing that Nigel thought he was being ridiculous. But Nigel had been unconscious when Ron had gotten an earful of exactly the sort of men the Americans were, so of course he wouldn't understand. And Ron hadn't been in the mood for arguing about his right to do his job, so he'd just flat-out told Nigel he was taking point. Nigel had rolled his eyes, but hadn't argued either, which told Ron more than the tired bags under Nigel's eyes and the dimmed spark of life in his smile that it was for the best that Ron actually start doing his job. Even if it was too late to keep Nigel from getting hurt.

Nigel followed silently, taking the opportunity to lazily study Ron's arse in front of him as they walked. He didn't believe the Americans were harmless, no matter what Ron seemed to think. He had a hole in his arm to prove otherwise. Still, he didn't think they'd run into the men again. They just had to get out of the maze of tunnels and portkey home, was all. Nigel curled his fingers in a fist to keep from reaching out to touch Ron. "How much further?" he asked softly, not really that interested in the answer. Every step forward was a step closer to home, and Nigel had never not wanted to go home more in his life.

"Not much now," Ron said, shooting a look over his shoulder that didn't look nearly as light-hearted as he meant it to be. "Why? Have a hot date tonight?"

"Yes," Nigel said seriously. "With a bottle of Ogden's finest and a king sized bed."

"And who says romance is dead?" Ron said, shaking his head and laughing. "I was thinking more like a long, hot shower and a long, slow fu..." He stopped dead in his tracks and held up his hand, one finger extended in warning. "Did you hear something?"

Nigel was so caught up in the vision of Ron's long, hot shower that a herd of elephants could have stampeded past him and he wouldn't have noticed. He swallowed, mouth gone horribly dry, and said hoarsely, "No."

Ron strained his ears until he heard the faint sound of voices up ahead. Cautious, he extinguished the light on the end of his wand and pulled Nigel against the wall. The voices weren't getting any closer, and now that he was listening, Ron was sure he could hear the crash and shuffle of things being moved about as the faintly familiar voices of the Americans floated down the tunnel to where Ron and Nigel stood. "I swear, I think they're sweet on us," Ron whispered in Nigel's ear, knowing his grim expression was lost in the darkness.

Nigel bit his tongue. This really wasn't fair. And now was so not the time to do anything about the growing bulge in his jeans. Nigel breathed in through his nose - mistake, it filled his head with _Ron_ \- and whispered back, "We can just go around them, it's not a problem."

"I'd rather not risk it," Ron breathed, daring to lean into Nigel for a moment. "And you're not well enough for a firefight."

Rolling his eyes again, Nigel muttered, "Don't baby me, Ron, I can handle two bloody Americans when they aren't shooting at my back."

Ron shook his head. "No," he said, turning and pressing against Nigel, nosing along his cheek and breathing in. "I won't let you get hurt again. I can't." Tilting his head, Ron kissed him, hard, effectively cutting off any protest with his mouth.

Nigel lifted both hands to cup Ron's face, returning the kiss hungrily. He didn't care about the Americans, not any more. He wouldn't have cared had the entire American Army been camped out in the next tunnel. All he could think about was Ron, Ron's mouth under his, Ron's body against his, and memorising the taste and feel for the empty days to come. His fingers tightened on Ron's face and he moved closer, pressing himself into Ron. Nigel broke briefly from Ron's mouth to gulp for air, to nuzzle his nose along Ron's, and then suddenly, Nigel couldn't move. At all. He tried to scream out his rage, but Ron's spell held him firmly.

It was a very special sort of petrifying spell, with a decay cycle of fifteen minutes to ensure that if the caster was captured, killed or otherwise incapacitated, the petrified person wouldn't be left there helpless. Not that Ron mentioned that as he layered it with a concealment charm to keep Nigel safe. He carefully propped Nigel against the cavern wall and kissed his frozen mouth.

"Forgive me, love," Ron murmured, touching his forehead to Nigel's. "I can't let them hurt you again." _I love you too much_. Backing away slowly, Ron let his fingers linger, lit the very end of his wand and slunk down the tunnel toward the distant voices.

Nigel was absolutely livid, vaguely surprised the spell didn't collapse from the sheer weight of his anger. Or explode, which would be much more appropriate to his way of thinking. Forgive Ron? Nigel may very well never speak to him again. But for now, all Nigel could do was wait to be released, propped against the wall in the dark, skin crawling with his need to just _move_.

Ron moved quickly, knowing in the back of his mind that Nigel would probably balance and rotate his jaw for him later, and knowing it would be worth it if it kept Nigel safe.

"... didn't your momma teach you better?" The voice sounded closer than Ron had thought it should have been, and Ron pulled up short, trying to get his bearings in the dark as he put out his wand-light. Carefully, silently, Ron backed against the wall and crept along. Blind in the darkness, he could only feel his way as the tunnel twisted abruptly, doubling up on itself. Now there was light up ahead, spilling out of a not-so distant cave, and that was where the voices were coming from.

There was a sickening sound like a boot hitting a ribcage at high velocity, all-too familiar to Ron, and a weak grunt. "Fuck you, yeah?" someone said, the words thick with pain. "I don't give a bloody fucking damn about your little guns. God, you Americans are so self-centred; it's always got to be about you, doesn't it? There couldn't possibly be anything else in this god-forsaken wilderness that I'd be interested in, like ancient tombs and rare historical artifacts."

Ron's brow furrowed; maybe the Goblins had gotten tired of waiting for results and sent someone else in? But no, that wouldn't make sense in an expense-sense. So it was likely something else entirely, and whoever he was, he'd stumbled into the Americans, already riled up from their run-ins with Ron and Nigel.

"Like that other guy was looking for a tree?" someone snorted. "There's a reason we won the war; we're just plain smarter than you Limeys give us credit for."

"Either that, or we know when to cut our losses on a bad investment." There was a pause, and someone spit wetly. "There was someone looking for a tree? Yes, I must be in league with your rogue botanist. Truly, your intellect astounds."

There was something familiar about that voice, Ron realised. Something about the pitch and drawl, the lazy insults when it was quite clear that he was in some serious trouble. As the sounds of a beating filled the passageway, Ron crept closer, casting a Notice Me Not spell and hiding behind a large crate with Cyrillic letters printed all over it. Knowing his spellwork was solid, but not willing to take unnecessary risks (not with Nigel waiting and furious behind him), Ron peered cautiously around.

The shorter of the two Americans, the one with the drawl and the spitting habit, was sitting on top of a crate, cleaning and adjusting a large gun as though he didn't have a care in the world. He clicked and clacked, sliding things back and forth and bending parts that looked solid before snapping them back into place. The black metal glinted in the electric lights, harsh and glaring as they hung from the cave ceiling, and when the man checked the sight on his gun, pointing it in Ron's general direction, Ron had the oddest urge to hold his hands up and come out of hiding.

The other man was pacing around a huddled figure on the floor, hands clasped behind his back while their captive coughed weakly. "This is a good batch," the taller American said, not even glancing up from the man on the floor. "Should make up for that pile of shit we had last month. Never thought we'd manage to unload it, but then I didn't think there were still people that stupid around."

His partner snorted and spat on the floor. "Yeah," he said, "I'm surprised it didn't blow up in our faces 'fore we got outta that deal. Must be that Irish luck yer always yammerin' on about."

"Irish luck is a myth," the man on the floor said breathlessly. "And Leprechaun gold turns to dust in a matter of hours, in case you were wondering."

"Shut! Up!" The tall American drew back his foot and kicked him to punctuate each word. "Nobody asked you shit, buddy. God, why can't the Brits get in a war so we can sell to the other side?"

"I've had enough of war," the captive said, struggling to his knees and lifting his head defiantly. "But thanks ever so for the offer."

Ron felt his blood run cold when he saw who the third man was. _What the fuck is he doing here?_ his mind demanded to know. But it didn't really matter, now did it? Because no matter how much Ron would have liked to watch a pair of American Muggles beat the piss out of Malfoy, Ron still owed the pointy-faced git more than he'd care to admit, even after all their problems at work. That, and he had a much more important score to settle with the Muggles.

Casting quickly, silently, Ron froze the taller man mid-swing, his momentum making him topple backwards, bouncing on the blood-stained ground beside Malfoy. When the other American jumped up in surprise, weapon drawn, Ron petrified him as well, with an added hex to send him flying back much harder than necessary.

Malfoy's head turned sharply at the sound of Ron's voice and his entire body went still as he stared directly at where Ron was standing even though he couldn't see him there. "I'm quite handy wandless," he said, voice almost bored, though Ron knew better.

"I've been saying you haven't a wand for years, Malfoy," Ron said, dropping his concealment spell and stepping out into the open. "Is there anyone else about?"

"Just you, me and our dance partners here," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes and standing at last. It was a slow, painful process, and he held one arm cradled close against his body, but Malfoy still tried to throw his shoulders back and stick that skinny nose of his in the air. Ron gave him a skeptical look, not really trusting that Malfoy would be able to stay upright much longer, but stayed away. "Don't tell me that _you've_ developed a sudden love of exotic botany?"

Once, not all that long ago, Ron might have blushed in embarassment. But now all he did was shrug, a casual and non-committal gesture. "And you've taken up treasure hunting," he said, letting himself smirk right back at Malfoy. It wasn't all that often that he had the upper hand, after all. "I reckon we've both gotten a taste for getting our hands dirty in our spare time. Kingsley know where you are?"

"Shacklebolt is my supervisor," Malfoy said, and spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the floor with a grimace. "Not my keeper."

"Oh, joy," Nigel said flatly from the cave opening. "Another Auror." He glanced at the Americans on the ground briefly and dismissively before giving Malfoy the same hard once-over. Gone was the slightly loony, affable front that was Nigel's usual demeanour. In his place was a fully trained cursebreaker, more than capable of taking care of himself and a stray Auror or two. Rage still burned in his eyes as he asked Ron, "Friend of yours?"

Ron had the grace to look sheepish, but still held his ground. "Not particularly. Nigel, Malfoy. Malfoy, Nigel," he said. "We work together now and then, is all." He'd not seen this side of Nigel before, and Ron wondered if this was the only side he'd ever see again, by way of thanks for keeping him out of danger.

"Malfoy." Nigel gave the beaten man another brief glance before focusing on Ron again. "Have we your _permission_ ," he asked acidly, "to get the bloody hell out of here now? Or do you still have more heroics to perform?"

"Well, fuck you too," Ron said, scowling. "We didn't have time to argue and you haven't listened to me once yet, you controlling, over-bearing--"

"Now, I enjoy a lover's spat as much as the next bloke," Malfoy cut in, limping in front of Ron, who had taken several steps closer to Nigel at some point, "but I'd rather not be here when our American friends wake up. So what say you both we Obliviate and go on our merry way? I've a terrible headache coming on."

Ron's mouth snapped shut and he turned a dark shade of red that clashed horribly with his hair. "Fine," he muttered, turning away to find the man he'd knocked across the cave.

Nigel leaned against the rock. "Go right ahead," he said softly. "While Ron does _his job_ , Malfoy, let's talk about yours. What are you doing here? Obviously this isn't one of those times the boy hero over there mentioned. Did the Ministry send you?"

Malfoy shuffled over to a corner and started digging through a bag, pulling out a wand, a small mountain of bandages and a clean shirt. "I'm on holiday," he said as he used his wand to cut his stained shirt free. "I like to visit exotic locales and have my life threatened by Muggles every once in a while, don't you?"

"Try again." Nigel pulled his own wand and began absently twirling it between his fingers, watching Malfoy steadily. "I may not be an _Auror_ ," he said with a quick and dark look at Ron, "but I know a few things. And I don't appreciate being lied to."

"And I don't appreciate being bullied," Malfoy countered. Both sides of his ribcage were already blossoming in livid bruises, and he still held his arm close. Gingerly, Malfoy spelled himself clean and bound his arm to his torso with the gauze before shrugging on the one arm of his clean shirt and buttoning it just enough to secure the clothing. "I'm here for my own reasons, and I'm heading home for rather obvious ones now."

Nigel cocked an eyebrow. "Your own reasons," he echoed. "You freelance, then." Nigel straightened away from the doorway. "You're too late," he said, a trace of smugness creeping into his voice, "and I'm sure you'll understand that I'll just keep my wand drawn until you've gone." Without looking away from Malfoy, Nigel added, "Are you finished yet, Ron?"

"Just about," Ron said, bending over the second American. "Tricky business, altering Muggle minds."

Malfoy smirked, although it looked more like a grimace on his beaten and bloody face. "Actually, I was hoping to convince the Weasley to work some of his first aid on me before we parted ways. He had top marks in that in training, you know," Malfoy said, and then laughed. "But then he'd have to be, running around in Potter's shadow for most of his life."

"No, I didn't know," Nigel said, his tone making it clear he didn't care, either. "His choice, of course. I would never presume to interfere in his ability to make his own decisions."

Ron looked up at that, eyes narrowed. "You mean if you even recognized my ability to make them, that is," he said in a hard voice, standing and brushing his hands off on the thighs. _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say, but instead he turned away from Nigel entirely and focused on Malfoy. "Can you walk?"

Malfoy huffed, and lifted his bag with a wince. "If you and the little woman can stop sniping long enough to get us out of here, I can walk."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron said flatly, snatching Malfoy's hand and inspecting the abrasions. "Not that bad," he said with a disgusted huff.

"Did you _not_ see the rest of me, Weasley?"

Ron's only response was a pair of fingers flipped Malfoy's way, and he turned around to leave. Unfortunately, that put him directly in front of Nigel, and Ron suddenly found he didn't have anything more to say at all. _I'm sorry. I love you_.

"Fix your friend," Nigel said, voice empty but with an effort. He was still so _angry_ and under that anger was even more hurt. Hurt that Ron thought him - what? stupid? foolish? enough to put Ron at risk by interfering when not in top form. There was also no little amount of embarrassment that Ron had so easily fooled him and hexed him. So much for his cursebreaking experience and training. But nothing was normal when it came to Ron, and Nigel's normal casual attitude toward sex had gone completely out the window the second Nigel had answered his door wearing just a towel. He hadn't understood it, and didn't completely understand it now, but whatever his problem, Ron had used it against him. Nigel hoped the anguish he felt was absent from his expression as he gave Ron one last look, then moved into the cave, walking past Ron. "I'll disable the guns. We don't want them in working order when the men wake up."

"Why not just blow the whole bloody thing up so we can get moving?" Malfoy demanded. "No one who matters will miss them."

"Because," Nigel said, gritting his teeth, "we are still in here. Or did you miss that part? And you have no idea who will miss them, or whether or not they _matter_. Whatever that means." He gave Ron a look almost of commiseration. "You really work with this snob? Why have you not killed him by now?"

"I might be a snob, but at least I'm a pragmatic snob," Malfoy said, jutting his chin out proudly. One of his shoulders slumped briefly, and pain flickered across his face, gone as fast as it had come. "And I'm damn good at my job," he added. "Not that I'll be able to keep doing it if I don't get some medical attention soon, because I've a nasty suspicion I'm bleeding somewhere quite inconvenient."

"Is bleeding ever convenient?" Nigel asked whimsically. "You never did say what your job was, Malfoy, so you'll excuse me for not being impressed that you're damn good at whatever it is." He waved a hand at the two younger men, suddenly feeling unbearably old and way too fucking tired for this sort of game. "Take him, and fix him, and get him the hell out of here, Ron. And don't trust him any more than you'd trust me in a fight." His lips twitched in a smile with absolutely no humour. "Malfoy, I have it, and it's secure. Don't try anything because it will get you nowhere. And be grateful Ron is willing to treat you, because our portkey is keyed for two, and I'd have no problem with leaving you here in a similar condition to theirs." Nigel gestured at the unconscious Americans and then turned away, unable to look at Ron any more. "Go."

Ron bit off an automatic snipe at Nigel for telling him what to do, _again_. Instead, he just nodded and pulled out his pack of medical supplies from his rucksack-- Nigel must have brought it with him -- and turned, hesitating. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, softly, and then jerked his head at Malfoy. "Come along, then. Let's patch you up so we can both pretend we didn't see each other here."

Malfoy actually followed along, shooting Nigel a speculative look as he passed. Together, the two young men made their way out of the caves; it wasn't all that far, actually, and the Americans, gun runners according to Malfoy (whatever those were, since Ron didn't rightly know), had the quickest and easiest path out cleared and well-lit. Stepping out into the sunlight for the first time in days, Ron blinked owlishly, shading his eyes.

"No need to be so dramatic," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes and sitting on a nearby boulder. He dropped his pack and set to slowly unbuttoning his shirt one-handed, only to pause and look up at Ron, an honestly curious expression on his face. "Does the statue work?"

There was a terrific rumble of thunder overhead, and Ron looked up to see great rolling clouds in the sky, easily as angry as he'd made Nigel. "I'd reckon so," he said, and pulled his cloak out to transfigure it into a canopy just as the rain started to fall. Quickly, he patched up Malfoy, stopped the internal bleeding and mended a few of his ribs, though the arm was broken badly in at least three places along with Malfoy's shoulder being dislocated. "I can fix your shoulder, but it'll make you hate me more than you already do, and I know mediwizards have a way of making that sort of thing not hurt. You'd be best going to them for the rest, anyhow."

Malfoy managed a one-shouldered shrug. "I'll have my personal physician make sure you haven't damaged me when I get home," he said. "Although I don't think he'll find much other than the arm."

Ron shook his head at the back-handed compliment and tried to grin as he stepped back. "I'll be seeing you in a week. My leave's up then."

"Mine too. Look, Weasley..." Malfory offered clumsily, glancing in the general direction of the caves.

"Don't worry about it," Ron said with a curt shake of his head. He and Malfoy weren't really friends, and never would be, but somewhere along the way, they'd developed enough of an understanding that they found it was easier most of the time not to bother fighting when it was just the two of them. Besides, Malfoy couldn't mention this whole debacle to anyone without letting slip that he'd been treasure hunting. "My mess, I'll clean it."

"If you insist," Draco said, digging in one of his pockets. "Hand me my bag, would you?" Ron did, just as Malfoy pulled a knotted up shoestring out of his pocket. Stepping back, Ron nodded once to the other man, and then turned away once Draco popped out of view, leaving Ron alone.

Alone and with nothing to do but face Nigel. Lightning crashed, and Ron actually _jumped_. Nigel and his serious fit of temper, at any rate.

Nigel took a deep breath before emerging from the caves. He'd shrunk all their gear except for the case with the statue and put it in his pocket. The case was under his good arm, and he had their portkey in one hand. "Let's go," he said shortly. He'd been joking - or mostly, at least - about his date with a bottle of Ogden's, but damn if he didn't need it desperately right now.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Nigel..." he tried in a heavy voice. "I..."

"What?" Nigel asked, suddenly holding on to his temper by a mere thread. His voice dropped. "You what, Ron?"

 _I love you_. "I'm sorry," Ron said quietly, daring to step closer. "I just..."

"Just think I'm an idiot," Nigel finished savagely. The look on Ron's face made his heart turn over and his gut clench with need, but Nigel was too angry to let it mitigate his hurt. "I have been taking care of myself since you were in nappies," Nigel said. "My job is frequently dangerous, and yet, I've survived all these years without you around to petrify me." Nigel stopped and breathed in hard through his nose. "I know my limitations. I know what I am capable of. There have been times when others' lives have depended on those capabilities and limitations. I had, believe it or not, no intention of going with you. I had expected that you would assess the situation and, if you needed help, come back to discuss our options. Instead, you used my inability to control myself around you against me." He shook his head. He was so tired. "Let's go," Nigel said again. "We've finished the job, there's no reason to stay any longer."

Ron turned away and took down his cloak, letting the rain fall on them, soaking them in an instant. But Ron didn't really register it. Not when he'd fucked up so royally, destroyed things between them just by doing a more obvious version of the same thing Nigel had been doing to _him_ for days. That thought somehow spurred Ron into motion, and he whirled on Nigel, poking him hard in the chest before fisting his hand in Nigel's collar.

"I couldn't risk it!" he shouted over a sudden roll of thunder. "I was too busy watching your arse before and you got fucking _shot_ , and I couldn't let it happen again! Don't you fucking understand?"

Nigel's jaw actually dropped. "So..." Nigel shook his head again, this time in disbelief. "So this time it was you out of control, then? You - what? You think it was your fault I got shot?" Huffing out a short laugh, Nigel let his head fall back. "Ron. We were the ones sneaking up on them this time. But either way, you _aren't my keeper._ You had no right to petrify me." Nigel stepped back, forcing Ron to either let go of his shirt or tear it. "Never mind. You won't have to worry about me, either my safety, or my arse, ever again."

Holding the portkey out in his palm, Nigel stared steadily at Ron, face as expressionless as he could make it. "Are you coming," he said, "or staying here?"

"I..." Ron felt _cold_ from that look, and all he could think to do was just jam his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as he resisted the urge to reach out.

Nigel gave Ron a considering look and then let his expression become wholly sexual. He sauntered toward Ron. "If we stay here, we'll fuck again, Ron. Is that what you want?" Nigel tightened his arm around the case and gave a surreptitious look around to be sure he hadn't dropped anything, although he knew everything was shrunk and in his pockets. He stopped directly in front of Ron and leaned in, nuzzling his nose along Ron's jaw, ignoring the ache that tightened his stomach and tore at his heart. Thunder rolled again.

Ron shook briefly, and somehow managed to resist nuzzling back, but he did step closer, eyes falling to half-mast. He was pretty sure Nigel was up to something, because there was no way he'd gotten over it. Hell, Ron wasn't entirely sure _he_ was over the way Nigel had been earlier, himself. But, _god_ , Ron just wanted to pretend, was that so bad? It wasn't sex he craved so badly, and that surprised even Ron, despite his own recent understanding of how he felt. What Ron needed right then was just to feel Nigel against him like he'd been in the tunnel, right before Ron had fucked up and tried to save him. Raindrops beaded in his lashes, and Ron broke with a soft sound, turning his head and brushing his lips over the side of Nigel's face. "Please," he breathed. " _Nigel_."

"Ron." Nigel turned to meet Ron's mouth with his own, letting himself wallow in the taste and feel of Ron's lips under his, just one more time. He closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, slowly exploring. _Just a little more,_ he thought, then caught himself. A little more would end in Ron on his knees in the mud, because Nigel just couldn't help himself. Nigel squeezed his eyes tightly shut and, still kissing Ron, brought his hand up, portkey still in his palm. He curled his hand around the back of Ron's neck, pressing the small gold ring into the freckled skin. He couldn't help a wry and bitter smile at the irony. Slowly, reluctantly, Nigel pulled just barely back from Ron's mouth, his lips moving against Ron's as he spoke clearly, activating the portkey.

"Bastard," Ron had time to whisper as he wrapped his arms around Nigel and they were yanked away by their navels, popping back in right in the middle of an alley. The air was thick with the smell of people and their pollutions, and Ron knew right off that he was home again, back in London. And probably right around the corner from the bank, knowing those Goblins and how they liked to keep their investments close. All that occurred to Ron in an instant, but it still took him a good handful of heartbeats more to remember to step back, to take his arms down from around Nigel's neck. _Now what?_ "Look..." he said in a choked voice, needing more time to make Nigel understand they were both bastards and that it was clearly a sign they belonged together.

Nigel forced a smirk to his lips. "To truly be even, I'd have to petrify you. But I can admit that I'm not as good at it as you are, and I don't know your fancy timed version." He shrugged casually, even though he felt as though his stomach had become pure acid. He dug Ron's rucksack from his pocket and returned it to its normal size. "I'm willing to call us square." He dropped the bag at Ron's feet and took a step back, then another. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an artifact to deliver to my boss." He gave Ron a mocking salute with one hand and turned, walking rapidly down the alley toward the bank entrance. Away from Ron. Halfway there his mouth fell open to suck in air, but he still couldn't breathe.

"Are you fucking _kidding me_?" Ron shouted after Nigel, not really expecting him to turn back now. He got the message, loud and clear, and Ron was pretty sure he was going to throw up later, but right now he was fucking _livid_. "Do you really have to have the last word that bloody damn badly?" Nigel didn't pause, didn't even slow down, and Ron huffed out a deep breath. "Fine. Fuck you, too!"

Snatching up his rucksack and stuffing his soaked cloak and bag of medical supplies in it, Ron pulled out his wand and Disapparated. Back to his flat, his job, his life. What did it fucking matter if the one bloke he'd fucked turned out to be a right bastard that couldn't take his own fucking medicine? Nothing, that's what. Besides, Ron reminded himself viciously as he kicked off his boots and headed into his kitchen for a cold drink and deliberately stopped to ogle Miss Magical Month of May's bikini line, he was straight, anyhow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel managed to make his report and deliver the statue without cracking, focusing almost desperately on the necessary paperwork and interviews. Even the Goblins couldn't make that last forever, though, and eventually he made his way out of the bank, intending to walk to St Mungo's. He stumbled on a nonexistent crack, swore, and Apparated to the hospital instead. He sat stoically through the mediwitch's worst, which was not prodding the wound and cleaning it, but rather the glowing praise the woman heaped on the "young man what fixed you up right proper, Mr. Jacobs, you were lucky he was with you." He managed not to snarl at her.

All too soon Nigel was in the dim hallway outside his flat again. He unlocked the door with the keys instead of a spell, preferring the mindlessness of the physical motions to the necessity of thought involved with spells. He pushed his door open and stumbled through, dropped his gear just inside the door, flipped the dead bolts one at a time, and went straight for the liquor cabinet.

He didn't even notice which bottles he grabbed, just carried them to the coffee table and grimly started drinking. And he didn't stop until he passed out.

He could only stay numb and passed out and drunk for so long, especially since he had to be at work a few days after returning from the field. Even after such an arduous assignment, the goblins didn't really let one recuperate. Nigel wasn't sure what day it was when he rolled off the sofa and forced himself into the shower, but he assumed he wasn't over his leave, as no one had come to drag him into the office.

Nigel stood in the shower, head on his arm which was braced against the tile wall, and let himself remember the way Ron's skin felt under his fingers, the way Ron tasted, the way his grin kicked up one corner of his mouth first before spreading to the other and then lighting up his eyes. Nigel replayed every memory, then he locked them away in the back of his mind and turned off the shower, stepping out into the bleak gray of the rest of his life.

Thinking absently that that sort of melodrama was much more suited to Oliver than himself, Nigel managed a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. He wiped the thankfully non-magical mirror free of condensation and looked at himself there. "Shake it off," he ordered himself. "It was just sex." His hollow-eyed reflection gave him a skeptical look. "It was!" he insisted, glaring at himself. "And you know it was because you were fucking _petrified_ , because your bloody ridiculous sex drive was used against you."

A tiny voice tried to suggest that Ron had been trying to protect him, that Nigel had underestimated Ron and had tried to force him into the role of child when they hadn't been fucking, but Nigel viciously told Bill to shut up. He turned from the mirror, unable to stand the look in his own eyes any more, and not needing it for the shaving charm he'd been performing since before Ron started Hogwarts. Once he'd shaved and dressed, he cleaned the remnants of his self-indulgence and then went into the office. He didn't need more rest, he needed work.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nigel would like everyone to know that he is very upset that there is sex in HIS story and he's not involved.

~~~*~~~

"Tonight's Ron's Thursday, you know. Have you talked to him since he got back from Africa?" Oliver took his plate over to the sink and then took the coffee pot back to the table with him, topping Bill's cup before pouring another for himself. "Or Nigel? It's not like Nigel not to drop by to gloat over a job well-done."

"You know Ron," Bill said with a shrug. "Sometimes I think he'd have no social life at all if we didn't drag him out here twice a month." Stretching out one leg, Bill played a lazy game of footsie under the table with Oliver as he sipped his coffee. "But you're right about Nigel; I haven't been able to get a minute with him since they got back. I heard they had a bit of trouble with Muggles out there, but I can't imagine why he'd avoid me for that." He laughed then. "Maybe Ronniekins got on his nerves and Nigel reckons I'll be hacked off about him giving Ron a thumping he probably deserved?"

Oliver laughed too. "Well, maybe we can get Ron to spill the beans at dinner. Does Nigel even have nerves for Ron to fray?"

"When he's working, he does," Bill said with another laugh. "Nigel can get fairly serious when he's on the job, and doesn't deal well with things not going according to _his_ plan. Fortunately for him, he's otherwise the easy-going lunatic we know. Can't imagine I'd have ever liked him much if he was like that all the time," he added with a wink.

Raising an eyebrow, Oliver sipped his coffee. "I'll have to take your word for that," he said, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't imagine Nigel serious.

Bill puffed out his chest and tried to look stern. "Well, that's a benefit to being elder and wiser, Oliver," he said in a condescending voice. "I know _everything_."

Oliver choked on his coffee, liquid coming out his nose as he started to laugh. "I'll," he gasped, "I'll be sure to tell Ron you said that."

"He knows, love," Bill chuckled, handing Oliver a napkin. "And I remind him regularly, just in case he forgets."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver was peeling the last potato when the owl arrived. He let it in, getting a few treats from a cupboard for it before sending it off and opening the scroll it had presented.

 

 _Ollie,_

 _I'm sorry, love, but I've got to stay here late tonight. I'll have to miss dinner, but I should be home early enough that I can make it up to you with the sort of after dinner sweet that might scar my poor, straight baby brother for life._

 _Give Ron my best, and do see if you can beat out of him what's going on with my best mate._

 _I love you._

 _Yours,_

 _~Bill_

 

Oliver laughed softly. "He's your best mate, love," he said, rubbing his thumb over the letter fondly. "Shouldn't you be figuring it out?" Shaking his head, Oliver rolled the parchment back up and went back to finishing the potatoes. As much as Ron loved Bill, and Oliver knew he did, it was far more likely that Oliver would get the truth - if there was anything to get - out of Ron without Bill there. And then... Oliver smiled slowly. He was definitely going to let Bill make it up to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron's knock came promptly at six, and Oliver grinned as he moved to answer the door. Ron never just walked in, not for years. Not since he'd walked in on Bill and Oliver kissing rather thoroughly, Bill's hand down the back of Oliver's jeans. Oliver truly was sorry Ron had been embarrassed, but it still made him laugh. "You're safe enough tonight, Ron," he said as he opened it wide, "Bill had to work late. It's just us."

"If you had brothers, you'd know how it felt," Ron grumbled, not for the first time. With a crooked grin, he walked in and closed the door behind him. Truth be told, Ron was actually relieved Bill wasn't about; he wasn't sure how he would have made it through dinner without breaking down and babbling about getting fucked by Bill's best friend. Especially since there wasn't anyone that Ron could really talk to about this. After all, Ron was straight and all his friends knew it, so it wasn't as though he could hash out this sort of love life problem there. "Do you need help with anything, then?" he asked, turning back around from hanging his cloak. He did his best to keep his expression light and friendly, and if he missed it any, well, Oliver was just too bloody nice to say anything about it.

Oliver smiled, studying Ron carefully. Ron looked tired and unhappy, although he was hiding it well. Oliver reached out and cupped the back of Ron's neck. "I have brothers now," he said quietly, squeezed Ron's neck lightly and let go. "It's all ready, just sit. I'll grab the beer and be right back."

"I've done nothing but sit for _days_ ," Ron called after Oliver, but slouched in his usual seat regardless. "God, but I can't wait to go back to work on Monday. My flat's just fucking boring."

"You can eat standing if you want," Oliver called back with a laugh. He opened two beers and carried them back to the dining room table, handing one to Ron before sitting and taking a swallow from his own. He put his bottle down and uncovered the meat, handing Ron a serving fork so he could serve himself, and began uncovering the other dishes. "I'd think you'd have enjoyed a rest after your problems in Africa," Oliver said mildly.

Ron's hand, laden with a large portion of food, froze briefly. "Problems?" he asked, clearing his throat as he went back to serving himself. "Who said anything about problems?" Had Nigel told Bill after all?

"With those Muggles," Oliver clarified. He'd noticed Ron's hesitation, quickly covered. Something definitely had happened. "Bill said he'd heard you'd had a bit of trouble with some Muggles." Oliver debated telling Ron that Nigel had been avoiding Bill, but decided not to. Not yet. "What happened? Or is it top secret?" Oliver passed the potatoes to Ron with a grin, emphasising _top secret_ just enough that Ron could make it a joke if he wanted.

Almost giddy with relief, Ron grinned back as he helped himself to a large mountain of potatoes. "Oh, _that_ ," he said, playing it off with an air of nonchalance. "We ran into a pair of Muggle arms dealers. Americans, actually, and they seemed to have a real grudge against us for being British. One of them was a fair shot with a gun, though, and that's how Nigel got that hole in his arm..." _That, and I was too busy watching Nigel move to watch the area around us_. Ron cleared his throat and stabbed at the meat on his plate. "I'd have thought Nigel would've told you lot all about it already."

Oliver's jaw dropped and both eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, did you say Nigel has a _hole in his arm_?" Oliver's voice rose sharply even though he tried to control it, to not over-react.

"Er..." Ron blushed under Oliver's shocked look, and turned his head back and forth a few times, cracking his neck and buying some time. "Yeah. He got shot, I patched him up. Didn't he tell you?"

"Obviously not." Oliver blew out a breath. "He's fine, though, right? Or we'd have - Bill would have heard at work, or Nigel would stop being an arse." Shaking his head, Oliver tried a smile. "Sorry, I'm rambling. He's fine, you're fine - you _are_ fine, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Fine." Ron busied himself with taking a big swig of his beer. He'd have said he was all in one piece, but that was too much of a lie, too far beyond just saying he was fine when he wasn't; just as surely as Nigel had that hole in his arm, Ron had one in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. Melodramatic, true, but then Ron hadn't had much else to do but stew over it since they'd come back. Just that and tell himself, over and over, that he'd be fine soon enough because there was no way he'd really fallen in love with such an arrogant prat. Highly-charged situation and all that. Besides, Ron liked women. "Dinner looks great," he said, and shoveled a forkful into his mouth, the food like ashes on his tongue.

"Thanks," Oliver said, letting Ron eat quietly for a while, then letting him direct the conversation and keeping him well stocked with beer. Once they finished, Oliver sent Ron to sit on the sofa with yet another beer and began clearing the table. He put the food away and set the dishes to washing themselves, then filled two bowls with ice cream and carried them into the living room. Handing one to Ron, Oliver stuck a spoon in the centre so the handle stood straight up and curled himself into the opposite corner of the sofa with the other. He thought that maybe Ron would be just drunk enough to talk now, and distracted by the chocolate ice cream, and said quietly, "How did you like Africa?"

Ron shrugged. "Was different," he said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. He felt insulated from his life like this, and just like that, it occurred to Ron that he could probably talk to Oliver about his problems. Maybe. "How'd you decide you fancied blokes?" he asked, looking up and then stopping dead, horrified that he'd just asked his oldest brother's damn-near spouse that sort of question. "Sorry, none of m'business," he said, and busied himself with a spoon of ice cream.

Oliver laughed. "It's fine, Ron. You can ask me anything, you know that. I suspect you're more uncomfortable with things than I am, yeah?" He took a spoonful of his own as he considered. "It wasn't really something I decided, it was more..." Oliver shrugged then sent Ron a sideways grin. "More that it was blokes who got me hard."

"Oh." Ron blushed and focused intently on his bowl. Before Sudan, it had been women (most of the time, Ron had to admit, but not always) that had done it for him. Now, though.... Now, it was just Nigel, like there wasn't any room for anything else. "Just wondered, s'all."

"Is there a bloke, Ron?" Oliver spoke carefully, almost as if he were trying not to spook him. He fought the fond grin that wanted to spread at the sight of the flush reaching Ron's ears. Really, having Bill's family was very nearly as important as having Bill, and Oliver loved Bill's brothers.

Moving abruptly, Ron set his bowl on the table, hand curled protectively around his beer bottle. Ron never really could hold his alcohol, but right now he was glad about that fact, because a small part of his brain was trying desperately (and failing wildly) to pipe up that maybe he might want to change the subject, _now_. "Not anymore," he said at last, looking up with eyes the same colour as Bill's but more lost than Oliver had ever seen his own lover's. "Don't tell Bill?"

Oliver reached out, curling his hand around the nape of Ron's neck again as his smile vanished. The pieces were clicking into place, and Oliver wondered if perhaps he'd had a bit too much beer himself, because how had he missed the connection between his question about Africa and Ron's about blokes? "Ron," Oliver whispered, "what happened?"

"Nothing?" Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping as he took another drink. "Everything. Fuck, Oliver, I don't know anymore."

"Tell me." Oliver squeezed Ron's neck then let go. "Either it was Nigel or you ran into someone on the job, and from what I've heard of his work habits and yours, I doubt you were running around behind Nigel's back."

Ron shook his head. "I wanna say I couldn't help myself, but really I just didn't want to," he said, and then sighed, the rest following unbidden. "Then I was too busy thinking about getting fucked again and Nigel got shot, I patched him, then things got weird and I petrified him to keep him from playing fucking hero because he's a bloody control freak and after two fucking weeks of him treating me like an incompetent child I knew he'd charge in and get himself killed and I... I couldn't take that, you know?" He shook his head again, this time to clear his muddy thoughts, swallowing the rest of his beer along with words about how empty he felt and how he hadn't even bothered trying to pull a girl since he got back because he knew, even beneath all the denial, that it would be pointless.

Oliver took a minute to sort through the rush of words. The side of Nigel Oliver knew was the furthest from a control freak that he could imagine, but he'd always suspected Nigel had hidden depths, as it were. "Nigel can be a bit condescending, I suppose, but you're hardly a child and certainly not incompetent. And neither is Nigel - where did you think he'd rush in and get killed? He doesn't take much seriously, but his job is the exception." Then Oliver shook his head. "Never mind. It hardly matters. I doubt being petrified went over well."

"It was the Muggles that shot at us," Ron muttered, eyes mutinous for a moment. " _My_ job. My problem. And Mr I-think-I-have-to-childmind was knackered as shite from doing his own job just before. There wasn't time to chit-chat about who would do what. I couldn't risk it," he finished softly. _I couldn't risk him_.

Finishing his beer, Ron stood with the slow grace of someone buzzed just enough to not mind his tongue properly. "I should go," he said, not quite able to meet Oliver's eyes. "You've got practice in the morning."

"Family is more important than practice, and it's still early," Oliver said, also standing. He wanted to wrap Ron in a hug and tell him it would be all right, because Ron just looked so miserable. Oliver still remembered very well the particular ache he could see in Ron's eyes. _He's fallen in love with Nigel, god help him._ "Stay and talk to me, Ron."

"Not much to talk about," Ron said with a rueful shake of his head.

Oliver tried a smile. "You could tell me how a straight bloke like you falls for a lunatic like Nigel."

Ron shrugged, his gaze going distant. "If I'd known I was supposed to take notes, I'd have tried to stop it, I reckon," he said with a slight quirk to his lips. "But I woke up one morning and he was making us breakfast and there it was." _And then hours later, it was gone, and you're a fucking idiot for thinking you could have made anything work with him being such a prick, Weasley_. "I just wish I'd gone and switched teams for someone less bull-headed and maybe someone who could shut up now and then and maybe wasn't best friends with my oldest brother, because wouldn't _that_ be the best if Bill found out? He's never been able to keep from meddling, and you know it."

"I know all too well," Oliver agreed ruefully, refusing to laugh - Nigel might have to be gagged to shut up. Concentrating on the kitchen, Oliver silently and wandlessly _Accio_ 'd more beer and handed Ron one of the bottles he'd caught, tugging Ron down to sit on the sofa again. "That does complicate things a bit, and explains why Nigel's been avoiding him."

Elbows braced on his knees and both hands grasping the neck of the beer bottle, Ron pressed his forehead to the cold glass. "Nothing to complicate now, really," he said at last. "He just wanted a fuck and I was the only bloke about for kilometers. Always did take sex too seriously, you know." Scowling, Ron straightened and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Besides, if he'd actually wanted something other than to get off, I'd reckon he'd have at least tried to listen when I apologised the first ten times. You know, for saving his life."

Oliver wrapped his hand around Ron's wrist. "I thought Bill only wanted a fuck once." He tightened his grip, suddenly sure of himself and determined that Ron _hear_ him, really listen. "I was wrong. We had a really rough start, Ron, and I was wrong. I think maybe you're wrong too. Nigel has never avoided Bill before. I don't know what he was thinking or why he wouldn't listen, but Nigel's never been one to mix sex and work, even if it meant going without for ages. Don't write him off yet."

But Ron wasn't having any of that. "You and Bill belong together, Oliver," he said with a small smile, "and it's so damn obvious that even my mum wasn't bothered about not getting grandchildren from Bill, because none of us had ever seen him quite as happy as he is with you. Bad beginnings or not, you two couldn't have ended up any other way." Firmly, Ron pried Oliver's fingers loose as he tried to rise again. "Nigel'll stop avoiding Bill once he reckons he won't get pounded for ruining my honour, I'll get over this, and life will move on."

"Ron, please," Oliver said, "it wasn't always this way for us. It wasn't always obvious. Bill wasn't always happy." Oliver shook his head. He didn't know what else to say, or how to help, and it made him smile wryly. Apparently Bill wasn't the only meddler. "I was sure I'd get over Bill. Just - at least consider it, Ron."

Ron stilled and finally met Oliver's brown eyes with his own dark blue ones, full of thoughts and emotions that he knew he was going to have to let go of if he was ever going to shake this. "I've done nothing but since we got back," he admitted quietly, and shook his head. Ron set his beer, opened but not drunk, beside his forgotten ice cream and stood. "It hasn't helped any. Give Bill my best, would you?"

Oliver sighed and stood. "Of course." Giving in to impulse, Oliver took the necessary step forward and pulled Ron into a fierce hug. "It'll be okay." _Somehow._

Patting Oliver's shoulder awkwardly, Ron stepped back just as soon as he could. "Of course it will," he said, and managed a tight smile as he turned away, collected his cloak and slipped out the door. It really was too bad, he thought as he Disapparated away and back to his flat, that he wasn't like Bill or Oliver, and neither was Nigel.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver had stopped the charms and was washing the last of the dishes himself when Bill finally got home. He'd taken Snitch for a walk first, hoping the fresh air would help him think, help him figure out what the hell Nigel's problem was, but it hadn't. He'd finally given up, taking Snitch home without coming to any conclusions. Still thinking, absently washing the last clean dish, Oliver didn't hear Bill arrive.

"Miss me?" Bill asked, wrapping his arms around Oliver from behind. He nuzzled the back of Oliver's neck and smiled as he scented his lover slowly.

Barely controlling his startled reaction, Oliver relaxed into Bill and bit back a laugh. "Were you gone?"

Bill chuckled and kissed the side of Oliver's neck. "I could always go away for a bit longer," he suggested. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all."

Oliver put the dish in the drainer and dried his hands before turning in Bill's arms, wrapping his own around Bill's neck. "No, that's okay," he said, nuzzling his nose at Bill's chin before leaning up to kiss him. "I'll keep you. How was work? Did Nigel finally surface or is he still hiding?"

"Still hiding," Bill said with a half-grin as he rolled his eyes. He kissed Oliver, slow and deep, just enjoying the familiar taste under the faint overlay of beer. "Well, even if you didn't miss me, I missed you," he said as they pulled apart, and slid the fingers of one hand into Oliver's back pocket. "And how's Ron, or did he find a way to beg off again?"

"He was here." Oliver chewed his lip as he wondered how much to say. Ron had said not to tell Bill, but Oliver hadn't said he wouldn't, and he knew Bill would want to know, want to meddle, but Ron had said not to. "He's not happy," Oliver finally said and then immediately added, "Nigel was shot while they were there, did you know?"

Bill pulled up short and stepped back slightly. "Shot?" he asked, blinking dumbly for a moment as he wondered where Ron had got a gun. "The Muggles they had trouble with," he said at last. "Well, that would explain a bit why Nigel's avoiding me; he's trying to heal and hide the evidence. I'd lay low until there wasn't anything more for him to take the piss on if I'd fucked up, myself."

"I got the impression it wasn't that he'd fucked up," Oliver said wryly, taking Bill's hand in his and leading him out and upstairs, turning off lights as they went. "Actually, Ron thinks he's the one who fucked up."

"Ron thinks it's his job to end world hunger," Bill remarked dryly, hooking the fingers of his free hand in the back of Oliver's jeans. "That's part of what makes him so good at his job, but sometimes it can be a bit much, you know?"

Oliver closed their bedroom door and turned into Bill's arms again. "He may not be far off this time, although I suspect there wasn't anything he could have done anyway. Apparently Ron wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. He was... distracted." Wanting to distract Bill in the same sort of way - Bill needed to be much more relaxed for the rest of this conversation - Oliver slid his hands down the back of Bill's jeans as far as they would go. The jeans were too tight for them to go very far, and Oliver pulled one hand free so he could work on Bill's flies.

"Mmm..." Bill hummed absently, ducking his head enough to nibble gently on Oliver's lower lip. He thought about teasing Oliver about being in the mood after spending the evening alone with little Ronnie, but thought better of it. Instead, Bill reached between them to mirror Oliver, opening his flies and sliding his hand under the denim to cup him firmly. "I believe I promised to make it up to you for missing dinner," he breathed.

"I believe you did," Oliver murmured back with a smile. "Speaking of dinner, did you eat yet? Or did you want something now?" Oliver's smile widened - he rather thought Bill would wait for food at this point - and then it faded as he bent his head and pressed his temple to Bill's jaw. "God, I love you so much, Bill. I don't have the words to say it."

Frowning slightly in confusion, Bill turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Oliver's hairline. "I love you, too, baby," he said, confused where this was coming from, but going with it anyway. Sometimes Oliver just _needed_ these sort of moments, and even Bill came away from them refreshed, in a quiet part of his heart that he trusted Oliver knew about already. "More than anything," he added, pulling his hand free and wrapping his arms around Oliver, cradling him close.

"I know." Oliver smiled faintly, pulling back just enough to brush his lips over Bill's. "I was just reminded earlier of when we were apart and how miserable we both were. And how obviously happy we are now." He shook his head and pulled away completely, taking Bill's hand in his again and leading him to their bed. Sending Bill a sideways smile, Oliver pushed his jeans off his hips. "How bad do you feel about missing dinner?" he asked, lips twitching.

"Terribly," Bill said, eyebrow quirked as he kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged off the shirt and folded it over the back of a chair before pulling off his socks and prowling toward Oliver. As he neared, Bill couldn't seem to pull his attention from the curve of Oliver's hip, just peeking out from under the bottom of his shirt, and Bill gracefully dropped to his knees to kiss Oliver there. His long-fingered hands slid up, under Oliver's shirt and along the strong, muscled planes of his torso, and Bill hummed in appreciation as he looked up with darkened eyes. "How can I make it up to you, gorgeous? Say the word and it's yours, you know."

Oliver's breath caught as he looked down at Bill, and he reached to cup Bill's face with both hands. "Suck me," he said. "Taste me and then fuck me."

Bill moaned softly in appreciation, rubbing his face against Oliver's hip and letting his hair, shorter now than it had been when they still met but still longer than his mother would have liked, slip over Oliver's skin. "You have the best of ideas," he said, voice lower and rougher than it had been just moments before. Then, slowly, Bill kissed his way over to Oliver's groin, nuzzling and touching as much as he could, wrapping himself up in Oliver's scent.

"I have the best inspiration," Oliver managed, sliding his hands through Bill's hair. He pulled one foot free of the jeans pooled at his ankles so he could widen his stance and moaned softly. The feel of Bill's lips and breath on his skin sent heat skittering up his spine. "God, you're hot," Oliver said, "and you make me crazy with need. You always have."

"I know," Bill chuckled smugly, and kissed the dent where Oliver's thigh met his body, just above the short dark curls surrounding his prize. "But then it's only fair, since I've never been able to keep my hands off you, and you know it." Still smiling, Bill kissed the spongey crown of Oliver's cock, tongue flickering out to taste before he wrapped his hands around Oliver's shaft and sucked on his head, tongue swirling and tasting.

Oliver gasped, fingers rhythmically massaging Bill's scalp, intently watching Bill's cheeks hollow and his jaw move as he sucked. God, that felt so good. Sometimes he wondered if their sex life would ever get stale, or even ease off, but despite the years and familiarity, Bill could still melt Oliver to the core with just a touch, still make him burn with just a look. "I've never wanted you to keep your hands off," he murmured.

Bill hummed in answer and bobbed his head swallowing more of Oliver down. Releasing his hands, Bill kept moving his head up and down, taking Oliver deeper each time. He held out a hand and silently summoned the lube, still preferring to use his hands over magic.

With another soft moan, Oliver spread his legs again. He hissed at the feel of the cold lube on Bill's fingers as they massaged his hole and began to press inside. "Oh, yeah," he said, and bit his lip. "Nngh." His body tightened, trying to pull Bill's fingers inside. "In," Oliver begged. He was already burning up, vaguely embarrassed by his complete lack of control even though he was definitely used to the feeling by now.

Oliver didn't get like this all the time, but Bill knew the signs, and knew that soon enough Oliver would be begging for more, unable to stand waiting any longer to be filled. Growling in pleasure, because these were the times that they both let go the most freely, Bill pushed his fingers deeper and swallowed around Oliver more forcefully as he sought out Oliver's prostate.

"God!" The _growl_ vibrating around his cock, the almost-rough shove of fingers into his body, and then Bill found the small bump inside - Oliver jerked and made an indescribable noise of need. "Oh god, yes, it's - _Bill_. Please." Safe in Bill's care, Oliver gave in to his body and the pleasure, letting instinct take over as his hips began to move.

Bill wanted to praise Oliver, to tell him how good he tasted, how hot he sounded, how much Bill wanted to just throw Oliver on the bed right then and fuck him. But instead, he just relaxed his throat and let Oliver move, let him fuck Bill's mouth and fuck himself on Bill's fingers. With his free hand, Bill pulled his own cock free of the snug denim and awkwardly spread lube, anticipation thrumming through him as he gave a hard twist with the fingers inside Oliver's arse.

Oliver cried out and tugged at Bill's hair. "Kiss me," he begged, "please, Bill, fuck me. I want to taste you, I want you inside me. I can't wait." He tugged again, fire burning through his veins, up his spine. He licked his lips and swallowed. "I don't want to come until you're inside me, I want to come on your cock."

"Oh _god_ ," Bill gasped, pulling his head back and standing abruptly. He yanked Oliver close, their bodies pressed together with only the thin fabric of Oliver's t-shirt between them, and slanted their mouths together with a dark growl. "On the bed, Ollie," he ordered roughly as he pulled back, pushing his jeans down already. "Take off your shirt and let me see that fucking gorgeous body."

Moving quickly, Oliver tugged the shirt off over his head and climbed on the bed, stretching out flat on his back. "Like this?" he asked with a faint smirk, spreading his legs, using both hands to stroke himself. His hands were shaking, the air stuttering in his lungs as he sucked in a breath. He needed Bill, so much, was so close to breaking, but he wanted Bill to break too, wanted to be fucked hard and fast until they broke together. "See anything you like?"

"Yes," Bill growled, drawing out the 's' as he crawled onto the bed and between Oliver's legs. "I see everything I _want_ ," he added, batting Oliver's hands away and licking up a single drop of fluid from the tip of Oliver's cock as he moved up, covering Oliver's strong body with his own slender one. "I want you." Bill couldn't stop talking, growling in Oliver's ear as he moved, pressing against Oliver's entrance, slipping into that tight, perfect channel. "I want to fuck you until I can't even move anymore. Ollie, the _things_ you do to me."

Oliver curled his legs around Bill's waist. He stopped breathing entirely for an endless heartbeat, caught in how perfect this was, _they_ were. "I love you," he whispered, curling his hand in Bill's hair again. He smiled. "Fuck me until you can't move, love."

"Since you asked so nicely," Bill said with an answering smile as he lowered himself just enough to kiss the tip of Oliver's nose and whisper, "I love you, too." Then he bit his lip and pushed, filling Oliver with one hard glide, a broken moan falling from his lips. " _Ollie_..."

"Bill." They began to move, a familiar dance that had yet to grow old. They knew each other so well; Oliver knew where to touch to make Bill shiver, and Bill knew how to move to make Oliver moan. Slow and easy at first, the heat between them grew quickly out of control. Oliver couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel, the sensations and emotions so huge he couldn't contain them. " _Bill_."

"S'alright, baby," Bill crooned, speeding up, moving harder as his control slipped. "I've got you." Then Oliver shuddered under him, clenching around Bill, and that was all he could take. Moving hard now, pulling up on Oliver's hips, Bill started driving into Oliver, giving himself over, losing himself like only Oliver ever did to him. Panting against Oliver's mouth, Bill let his eyes close as he moved, hands up and under Oliver's shoulders, pulling him down again and again.

Oliver hitched his legs higher around Bill's waist, pleasure shivering through him. "Fuck me," he groaned. "I love the way it feels when you push inside." The words were forced out around and between helpless sounds of pleasure and need. One hand crept between them and curled around his cock, stroking in time with Bill's thrusts.

Bill grunted and tucked his face against Oliver's neck as he moved. Fuck, but he wanted this to just keep going, he needed to come, wanted more, couldn't take any more. "I love you," he whispered, and thrust hard. "Loveyouloveyouloveyou." He was coming apart at the seams, scraping his teeth along Oliver's neck, fingers digging into his sweat-slicked skin. "God, Ollie..."

"Bill!" Oliver arched his neck and lifted his hips into each hard thrust. "Fuck! I... god. Bill. Love. _Mine_." He clenched his teeth, neck straining as he held on, refused to come, oh god, he wanted to come, needed to come, needed to hold on because it felt so bloody _good_ he didn't want it to end. Pleasure rolled through him in waves with each shove of Bill's cock into his body, with the sting of Bill's teeth at his throat and the bruising grip of Bill's fingers into his shoulders. Mouth falling open, Oliver gasped helplessly. "Mine. Loveyoufuckme _god_! Don't stop. Don't stop. More."

"Yours!" Bill panted, and his scalp started to tingle and he could feel the heat spiking, coiling around him and he knew it was coming. "Baby, I can't..." he moaned, letting go of one of Oliver's shoulders and grabbing at his hip, lifting him up, slamming into him harder, faster, needing it _now_. "Please, Ollie, please, _yours_ , I need..." He needed to come, and was going to with or without Oliver, Bill knew it, but still he bit down on Oliver's shoulder, holding on and marking him, growling and thinking _mine_ with the last part of his brain that worked, gasping around his mouthful of flesh.

Oliver cried out and tangled his free hand in Bill's hair. "Give me - Bill, I, fuck. Come, I want, I want," Oliver rambled, the words degenerating into harsh breaths and needy sounds as their bodies slammed together. After one last desperate noise Oliver managed, "I want your come." He tightened his body on Bill and let go, convulsing under Bill as the pleasure exploded through him.

Bill threw his head back, the sting of his hair pulling in Oliver's fingers only pushing him harder, flinging him even more into the throes of his orgasm as he whimpered breathlessly and shot off, his hot spunk filling Oliver in long pulses. He was shaking, he couldn't breathe, and Bill clutched at Oliver even as he collapsed, boneless and struggling to remember how to get his lungs to work and his heart to slow down. "Fuck, but I love making things up to you," Bill whispered, and then chuckled shakily, kissing the sweaty skin of Oliver's neck.

Nuzzling at Bill's ear with his nose, Oliver laughed softly and said, "You'll have to miss dinner more often." He relaxed his fingers, absently stroking Bill's hair instead of tugging at it now. He felt perfect; all loose, relaxed and sated. He really couldn't think clearly enough to talk to Bill about Ron without letting Ron's feelings for Nigel slip into the conversation, so he decided to worry about it later and let himself float in the afterglow. "You're amazing," he mumbled.

"I try," Bill murmured, and sighed happily before rolling to the side and tucking Oliver against his long, slender form. "But I am sorry I missed your night to cook. Food's always better when someone else makes it for you, you know."

"I know." Oliver snuggled into Bill and yawned. "But there's leftovers for tomorrow. Ron didn't eat as much as usual."

Bill frowned slightly, concern creasing his forehead. "What's wrong with him? Ron's got a hollow leg."

"Um." Oliver rubbed his nose against Bill's chest, trying to think of what to say and finally settling on Nigel's injury. "I, er, think he's still upset about Nigel being shot," he said lamely. It wasn't a lie, Oliver told himself. Ron was upset about Nigel in general, including the gunshot wound.

"Someone getting hurt isn't enough to put that boy off his feed. He's seen and dealt with a lot worse," Bill said. Damn it, he could feel tension creeping in already as he worried about his youngest brother. "Didn't he say anything? Maybe I should drop by and see him tomorrow, poke at him a bit."

"No, don't do that." Oliver sighed. He could feel Bill tensing against him. "He asked me not to say anything. He's fallen in love and it's hit a rough patch, is all." Oliver winced. He had a bad feeling about this - either Ron or Bill was bound to get very irritated with him over this, he just knew it. And probably both of them.

"Ronniekins? In love?" Bill could feel the grin spreading across his face. "He didn't mention any girl to me when I was briefing him on the Africa trip."

Oliver couldn't help it - he snorted out a soft laugh. "No, he wouldn't have." Giving in to the inevitable, Oliver shifted to sprawl on top of Bill. And he did not do it to hold him down, not at all. _Liar_. "Trust me, it's really not funny."

Warm and relaxing again, Bill let Oliver cover him securely, and lifted his head to kiss Oliver's forehead. "So tell me all about Ron's mystery girl, then. And how we can get him happy again, because Ron's better at sulking than I am, and that's got to get on his co-worker's nerves."

"No meddling, Bill." Oliver gave Bill a wry smile and settled himself just a bit more firmly into Bill. His lips twitched into a genuinely amused grin at the thought of Nigel's reaction to being referred to as 'Ron's mystery girl'. "It's actually someone you know very well." Given the trouble he was bound to be in with them both, Oliver wasn't above teasing Bill about Ron. It was likely the only fun he'd have for awhile, at least until the steam stopped coming out Bill's ears.

"Oh god, don't tell me he's back with Hermione again," Bill said, rolling his eyes.

"No, no, it's someone new." Oliver kissed Bill's chest. "Not as tall as you are. Dark hair." He kissed Bill's chest again, hiding his face. "Penis."

Bill blinked slowly, replaying Oliver's words. "I'm sorry, but did you just say that my as far as anyone's ever known him is straighter than a bloody arrow brother is in love with a cock?"

Oliver snickered. "No, I just said that your apparently not as straight as everyone thought brother is in love with someone who happens to have a cock." Really, he was enjoying this just a little too much. He snickered again.

Shaking his head, Bill gave in and laughed softly. "Good on Ron," he said with a grin. "Following in my footsteps."

That hit just a little too close to the truth, and Oliver stopped laughing. "Yeah," he said softly. "More than you know." Oliver sighed. And in more ways than Oliver really cared to think about. "But he's convinced he'll get over it."

Something in Oliver's voice sounded... _off_. Like how whoever this bloke of Ron's was was someone Bill knew well, and how Oliver kept skirting the issue of who it was. Warning bells, the sort that let you know when something important was about to be said, or when you're about to fuck an underage schoolboy, went off in the back of Bill's mind. "Oliver?" he asked, keeping his voice mild. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Oliver knew that tone in Bill's voice very well, and knew the time for teasing was over. He let his full weight press Bill into the bed before saying simply, "It's Nigel."

" _What_?" Bill tried to sit up, but Oliver had him pinned, his solid and muscular body stronger than Bill's. Scowling, Bill looked up at Oliver. "Very funny. Who is it, really?"

"Nigel," Oliver said again. "Which is probably why he's been avoiding you. And why I'll be avoiding Ron once he finds out I've told you."

For a long while, Bill just said nothing, frowning darkly over Oliver's shoulder, as though Nigel were right there for Bill to give a piece of his mind to. What the fuck was Nigel thinking, getting involved with someone he worked with? And Bill could connect the dots just fine, thank you very much, so since Nigel had been avoiding him since the day he got back, that meant things had happened before that, and he _knew_ it hadn't been going on before they went on the job, so that meant that Nigel had been fucking Bill's baby brother who was supposed to be straight while they were supposed to be working. "Ron's all messed up because of the suspension," Bill growled menacingly. "And he's practically a _baby_. He's in no state to be getting tangled up with anyone. Nigel'd better keep right on avoiding me..."

Oliver smothered a smile in Bill's chest. "Ron's older than I was the first time you fucked me," he said mildly. Really, Bill was just the perfect older brother. Oliver shifted enough to press his mouth to Bill's. "Ron is sure it's over, that Nigel's only avoiding you until you've gotten over the urge to, how did Ron put it? Pound Nigel for ruining his honour, I think he said. I'm not entirely sure I agree, but Ron wouldn't listen. He's too busy moping."

"Ron's nine years younger than Nigel," Bill said, still frowning. "And a romantic at heart. He's not like how I used to be, how Nigel is; he's like you. Of course he'd mope, but at least he's better off now, because Nigel's not nearly as good at apologies as I am, and if he were to hurt Ron like I did you..." Trailing off, Bill shook his head. Ron's honour was Ron's business, but Bill's baby brother's broken heart, when given by the bloke who was supposed to be Bill's best mate? That was something else entirely.

"I think Ron may have hurt Nigel too." Oliver linked his fingers on Bill's chest and rested his chin on them. "Possibly just his pride, you'd know better than I how Nigel thinks, but I can't imagine having Ron petrify him was at all pleasant." Oliver smiled. "But if Nigel's like you and Ron's like me, then clearly they belong together."

"Ron deserves better, and so do you," Bill said softly, and wrapped his arms around Oliver's waist. "Which is why I always try to be better for you. Not that I'm letting go if I fail, mind, but you get the point." For a long moment, Bill looked up at Oliver with gentle eyes that clearly said he knew exactly how lucky of a man he was. Then the rest of what Oliver had said filtered through, and Bill blinked rapidly in confusion. "Ron _petrified_ Nigel? Well, I reckon that would be one way to get him to shut up."

Oliver snorted out a quick laugh. "Ron did say he wished he could have switched teams for someone who'd shut up now and then." The laughter faded and Oliver said, "Ron was going after the Muggles and didn't think Nigel would stay put, and Nigel was apparently in no condition to dodge another bullet." He smiled tenderly at Bill and reached to cup his cheek in one hand. "I think you don't give yourself enough credit. And you might be selling Nigel short too." Running his thumb over Bill's lower lip, Oliver added absently, "Ron thinks Nigel just wanted a fuck and there wasn't anyone else around, but I told him the only thing Nigel takes seriously is the job."

Bill frowned again, but only briefly this time. "Obviously he didn't take the job seriously enough this time, if he found time to deflower my baby brother," he said at last, arching an eyebrow up at Oliver. "So what do you want me to do to fix Nigel's fuck up? Because I'll be honest, I don't much fancy the notion of them together. Ron's bull-headed and Nigel's pig-headed and they'd like as not row until one or both of them killed the other. Or Nigel fucked up and broke Ron's heart, forcing me to pound him."

"I don't want you to fix it," Oliver said, "I don't think it's your place, love." He leaned up to kiss Bill again, unable to resist tasting him when his lips were so close. "I do think you ought to track Nigel down and talk to him, so he knows you aren't going to pound him. I expect he misses talking to you as much as you do him. And no pounding him. At least not until you've got his side of things." Oliver raised an eyebrow. "If he did just want a fuck, then hit him an extra time for me, he'll deserve it."

Bill finally laughed at that, though there wasn't all that much mirth in it. Kissing Oliver back, Bill quirked up one side of his mouth. "Can I at least box Ron's ears for his bloody awful taste in men?"

Fairly sure Bill wouldn't be jumping up to take Nigel apart now, Oliver relaxed and shifted, settling himself along Bill's side but leaving one muscular thigh over Bill's legs. "I suppose. If you must." Oliver nuzzled at Bill's ear with his nose, then carefully bit the lobe, and sucked. "You can't think his taste in men is all that awful. Or do you have to be drunk for that?" Oliver chuckled.

"Ha-bloody-ha," Bill said, nuzzling noses with Oliver. "I'll have you know that at least _I_ had the good sense not to fall in love with Nigel. I was already taken, anyhow."

"Yes, you most definitely were. And still are." Oliver nuzzled back and kissed Bill. "Consider dinner made up for," he murmured, eyes drifting shut. "Talk to Nigel soon."

Bill grumbled at that, clearly not liking the idea. But at the same time, he liked the idea of ruining the peaceful calm that was settling over their bed even less, so Bill just pulled Oliver close and kissed his hair. "Yes, love," he murmured. "Whatever you want."

Besides, Bill reckoned that fists could be just as eloquent for communication as words. If it turned out Nigel needed it, that was. Not, mind you, that Bill was half hoping he'd get the chance. Nope. Not at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	9. Chapter 9

~~~*~~~

Nigel scrubbed his hand over his face and then left it at his chin, leaning into it. He was so tired. Closing his eyes - just to rest them for a second, really - Nigel wondered if he should go back to the mediwitch and get something that would make his bloody mind shut off long enough for him to get some fucking _sleep_. It kept feeding him memories of Africa.

Remembering the truly brilliant sex was bad enough, but what really ate at Nigel was the look on Ron's face that last morning. Nigel refused to name the emotion so clearly written all over his young lover's face.

 _Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself._ Nigel shook his head with a snort of almost-amused laughter. This sort of thing was hardly You-Know-Who. The laughter quickly died, and Nigel sighed and turned back to his reports. It wasn't long before Nigel was staring blindly out his window again, though he didn't realise it. Fuck, but he _missed_ Ron.

Being as it was lunchtime, Bill wasn't surprised to not find all that many people about as he made his way through the halls to the area the field cursebreakers often called the Waiting Room. Of course, there weren't usually all that many about to begin with, since cursebreakers were notorious for itching feet and a thirst for adventure. Bill remembered how strange it had felt to not be looking forward to his next assignment, to not be fidgeting and pushing scrolls about his desk when he had first come back to London, and even now he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he walked past his old supervisor's office, thankfully empty.

Truth told, Bill was mostly hoping that Nigel was out to lunch along with everyone else. He didn't really fancy having the conversation this had every potential for turning into, but if Bill could at least go home to Oliver with the truthful statement that he'd _tried_ , maybe that would be enough.

Rounding the corner, Bill saw Nigel sitting at a desk, and sighed, giving into the inevitable. _He's your best friend_ , Bill could almost hear Oliver say, and Bill instantly felt bad about dreading this encounter. No matter how badly Nigel had fucked up -- and Bill was willing to bet that a good portion of this mess that was fucking with his baby brother was Nigel's fault -- Nigel had always been there for Bill. Even when Bill was all tangled up in Oliver those first few months, falling in love and refusing to see it for what it was.

And right now, Bill could see that Nigel needed someone to be there for him. There were bags under Nigel's eyes and he looked haggard, like he was only half there. Shaking his head, Bill walked up to Nigel's desk and dragged an empty chair over to plop down companionably.

"How's the arm?" he asked without preamble, as though they hadn't missed a beat.

Nigel started, a small motion quickly controlled. He leaned back and smiled wryly, making a show out of stretching his arms and flexing. "Right as rain," he said. His eyes watched Bill warily. "How's my favourite desk jockey? Been awhile." Linking his hands behind his head, Nigel managed not to wince. It was all his fault it had been awhile.

"Busy," Bill said with an elegant shrug. "They've got me checking the old tunnels for mutating charms starting next week, actually. I just found out today I got the position, and that they're getting me a partner, fresh from the field. Which is a good thing, since I reckon Oliver'd kill every last one of the Goblins if they let me get killed." Grinning fondly despite the fact that he knew he was going to have to be careful how he told Oliver about the new job, Bill winked at Nigel. "Maybe they'll give me you, since you went and recovered something that wasn't supposed to exist?"

"Are you sure you want a partner who gets himself shot?" Nigel asked with a hint of self-disgust in his voice. He wanted to ask if Bill just wanted to get him alone before killing him, but since he didn't know what Bill knew about what had happened with Ron, or if he knew anything at all, Nigel refrained. "I don't think Oliver'd trust me with you, not after being so bloody stupid."

"Curses don't shoot guns," Bill said dryly, arching an eyebrow. "Besides, I could say _a lot_ of things about you, and 'faster than a speeding bullet' isn't one of them." Bill's eyes hardened and his voice was cold, letting Nigel know that a lot of those things probably wouldn't be repeatable in mixed company.

Nigel sighed. Okay, so Bill knew. What he knew was debatable, as he couldn't see Ron running off to tattle to big brother, but he'd obviously heard something. "So say them," he invited, voice every bit as hard as Bill's eyes. _Won't be anything I haven't already thought._

There was a long pause as Bill just looked at Nigel, his mouth compressed tightly. "Piss-fucking poor mate, for one," he said at last. "You don't fuck your mate's brother, Nige. You don't get his guard down in a dangerous situation just because you want your cock sucked, and then you don't just cast him off like yesterday's rubbish."

"Is that what you think happened?" Nigel's eyes widened in spite of himself, and he laughed shortly, unamused. He shook his head. "Maybe you should go get the real story from your brother before you start in on me, yeah? And when you do, ask him about how he fucking _petrified_ me, Bill." Nigel sat forward again, shuffling his papers. As if he'd be able to concentrate on them at all any time soon. "Now if you don't mind..."

Growling, Bill launched himself out of his chair, hauling Nigel up by the collar. "Grow. Up," he said, and then let go of him abruptly, remembering Oliver's insistence that he not meddle. _Too late_. Pacing away, Bill ran a hand through his chin-length hair. "I'd talk to Ron, but he's even better at avoiding people than you are."

Nigel slumped back down into his chair and put his face in his hands. When had his life gotten so completely fucked up? Sex wasn't supposed to mean anything. He wasn't supposed to be pining for anyone, let alone his best mate's - if Bill still _was_ his best mate - baby brother. He was supposed to be having fun, going out, working the clubs, enjoying his job, glad to see his possibly former best mate but instead... Nigel rubbed his eyes. "I don't see why he'd be avoiding anyone," he grumbled. "I'm the one who was the experiment. He got what he wanted out of it."

"You're really that stupid, aren't you?" Bill asked, astounded that Nigel didn't have a clue how much Ron loved him. "Un-fucking-believable. Ron has worse taste in blokes than he did in women."

"Gee, thanks," Nigel said dryly. "And you're supposed to be my best mate. I'll own up to being stupid, but don't worry. I'm sure Ron's already got a girl or two." His lips curved down at the thought. "Look. I admit I should have shoved him off when he jumped me. I just - god." Nigel stood abruptly, taking his turn to pace. "I opened my door and there he was, and no matter what I did I couldn't stop thinking about him." Nigel stopped at the window and rested his forehead on it. "A week of listening to him breathe and watching him laugh and the way he moves... I couldn't fight myself and him too."

 _You might be selling Nigel short_ , Bill remembered Oliver telling him, and as he watched Nigel, Bill began to think Oliver might have been more right than he had thought. Taking a deep breath to settle himself, Bill stepped close to Nigel, curling a strong hand over his friend's shoulder. "It's not like you to put a job to the side for anything," he said, voice gentling. "Not even a piece of tail."

Nigel shook his head. "Ron was never a piece of tail," he said. "I tried so hard, Bill, and then I almost got us killed." He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling as he laughed softly. "I've never had a problem focusing on work before. It was always the most important thing in the world." He turned to face Bill, back against the wall, and gave his friend a wry smile. "Something about you Weasleys, I just don't know. I have a lot more sympathy for Oliver now than I did back then."

Bill shook his head, but managed a small grin back. "Family charm," he said, and then leant in enough to touch their foreheads together briefly. It helped, a lot, to see how affected Nigel was by all this, that he genuinely seemed to care for Ron. Pulling away, Bill decided that giving Nigel a small bit of inside information wasn't meddling. Too much. "But if anyone's like my Ollie, it's Ron. Ron's never been like how I was, how you are; no one was ever just a faceless fuck for that boy. And I'd be willing to bet he's avoiding me out of some bloody stupid idea that he's protecting you from my wrath."

There. And Nigel could do whatever he wanted with that. Or nothing at all.

"Obviously that failed." Nigel smirked at Bill, but his eyes were empty. "There's a first time for everything, yeah? Ron was curious, and you know things can get intense on a job." He tried a smile. "You should tell him we've talked so he doesn't avoid you any more. He really looks up to you."

"You tell him," Bill suggested with a roll of his eyes. After more than a decade of Oliver, Bill knew the best way to handle such theatrics was with calm logic. "And while you're at it, ask him why he's still moping about if you were nothing but his experiment in being queer."

"He thinks it was his fault I was shot," Nigel explained. "And he's upset because he thinks I babied him and wouldn't let him do his job." His lips twitched. "He's a lot like your Ollie that way, he's very dramatic at times." He shook his head. "He won't want to see me again. The last thing he said to me was 'fuck you', after one hell of a row."

 _Good boy, Ron_ , Bill thought, but only snorted softly. "And you probably deserved it," he said, giving Nigel's shoulder a light shove. "But if I can get over you using my baby brother for your mid-life crisis, I reckon said baby brother can get over you being a condescending prat."

"I definitely deserved it," Nigel said without humour. He moved past Bill to drop back into his chair. "Even if he did get over how I acted, he doesn't - " Nigel huffed out a breath, suddenly embarrassed but still unable to let it go. "He petrified me, Bill. We were kissing, for god's sakes, as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered, and then I couldn't fucking _move_."

Bill blushed, just slightly uncomfortable discussing Ron's sex life in detail, but kept his gaze steady. "From what Oliver said," he said, careful, knowing how Nigel could be when anything threatened his control, no matter how easy-going he was outwardly, "it sounds like Ron had some fool notion that he was protecting you."

"He thought I was fucking stupid enough to go charging in after bloody Americans with guns when I'd been shot and had spent hours breaking and was barely able to stand upright." Nigel was getting angry again just thinking about it. "For crying out loud, I'd had to ask for an Ennervate just to get into the damn vault after getting it open." Nigel stood up again, throwing up his hands. "That right there told me I wasn't more than a fuck to your precious brother." He laughed shortly. "I don't think I can ever take a nameless kid home from a club again, not now I've been shown so clearly how it feels to fuck someone who has no respect for your intelligence or common sense."

"It sounds like Ron made one hell of a mistake," Bill said, backing away and giving Nigel space he obviously needed. "But it makes me wonder what you did before that would've made him think you didn't trust his abilities enough to do something as stupid as get yourself killed." He moved the borrowed chair back to its original position. "But then again, it's not my love life. Or my pride," he added with a shrug.

Nigel stared at Bill, stung. "No," he said, "it's not. You have Oliver, who has loved you blindly since he was a teenager, who would do anything and everything for you, who forgave you for being an arse more than once. I have fallen in love with a man who is straight and thinks I'm an absolute moron, who petrified me rather than trust me, or even ask me not to rush in. You have no idea at all."

To his credit, Bill didn't let the smile loose that threatened at hearing Nigel say he was in love. Instead he just shrugged. "Maybe Ron's not the only one who has to get over someone being an arse," he said instead, and paused. "Oliver forgives me, Nigel, because he loves me. In case you were wondering." He glanced at his watch and grimaced. "I've got to get back to my desk. Changing positions means a fuckload of wrap-up paperwork."

"Go away." Nigel waved a tired hand at Bill and sat at his desk. "Wait." Nigel opened his desk drawer, removing the notebook Ron had given him when he'd needed extra parchment. Nigel had found it when he'd finally unpacked his satchel and had brought it to work, intending to send it home with Bill. But he'd been avoiding Bill. He tossed it at Bill, who caught it automatically. "Give that to Ron. Tell Oliver hello." Nigel grimaced and, not looking at Bill, asked, "How is Ron, by the way?"

Bill tucked the book under his arm, eyebrow raised, although he didn't comment about this, at least. "Broken," he said after a moment, and then left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, leaving Nigel alone with that last thought.

"God _dammit_ ," Nigel snarled, and threw his mug at the wall where it shattered, spraying coffee and ceramic shards all over the wall and the floor.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	10. Chapter 10

~~~*~~~

Ron felt like an idiot, and it was all Malfoy's fault.

They'd both been back at work for the past week now, their desks facing each other like some sort of unspoken threat to partner them up if they didn't start acting like adults. Malfoy was favouring his arm still, but not so much that anyone but Ron noticed, and they both pointedly avoided discussing what they'd done on their forced holidays. Actually, they pointedly avoided any and all discussion unless they absolutely, positively had to talk, and then only about work. The strategy worked so well, people around them seemed to get less and less nervous about leaving them alone as the days wore on, and by midweek, Ron found that he actually had achieved enough peace and quiet to start working his way through the massive backlog of reports that he'd never quite gotten around to doing before.

"How's the cursebreaker?" Malfoy had asked on Wednesday when Ron came back from the cafeteria, arms full of the crap the lunchwitches were trying to pass off as nutrition this week.

"How's about you shutting the fuck up?" Ron had said, scowling as he'd sat down, pushing his food aside and grabbing for a stack of forms. He wasn't that hungry, anyhow.

On Thursday, Malfoy waited until the end of the day, dodging Ron's suspicious looks as they both shrugged on their cloaks. He'd shouldered his way ahead to be the first one through the door, of course, but paused long enough to toss a parting comment over his shoulder.

"He's not doing any better than you are."

Ron had frozen in his tracks, not recovering enough to even start thinking of an insult good enough until Malfoy was long gone, and all Ron could do was just stand there, scowling. He was _fine_. Or, at least he'd be fine. Eventually. So what if he was hardly sleeping? If every little thing somehow managed to lead back to Africa, back to Nigel, and if Ron just didn't find the idea of eating all that appealing? The fact that he was in love with the bastard wouldn't change the fact that Nigel was... well, a _bastard_ , and it wouldn't help Ron to move on and give up, now would it?

Besides, Ron was sure Nigel was just fine. He'd probably moved on to someone else, someone that wouldn't push back or even think to try and protect him with a petrification spell. Probably, the way Ron looked at it, Nigel had gone back to his clubs and the willing blokes, always so eager to please and nothing at all like Ron was.

"One of you has to be a adult at some point, you know," Malfoy had murmured abruptly when it looked like they might actually be undisturbed for the entire afternoon on Friday. "Pride's a good thing, but a bloody poor bedfellow."

Ron had looked up, scowling already, but Malfoy was still bent over his own work, as though he hadn't said a word. He had thought about telling Malfoy to piss off, but instead found himself snapping, "Give us back my stapler, you pointy-faced supply thief."

When Malfoy handed over the stapler in question -- Ministry property, actually, not Ron's but that was entirely aside from the _principle_ of the thing -- he'd also handed over a scrap of paper with the name of a pub written on it. The sort of pub that the sort of folk that Ron hunted and trapped went to, and not a place that Ron had ever gone to voluntarily before. Hell, Ron wasn't really much of a pub-going sort under the best of circumstances, prefering to just pull on a clean jumper and drop by every now and then. But Malfoy would had have to have figured that out, and probably expected Ron to chicken out and not go, which was why, of course, Ron _had_ to go.

So, that night, Ron dressed in a plain blue jumper and loose jeans, comfortable and non-descript enough that there wouldn't be anything to make him stand out as not belonging in the Muggle pub. He'd be out of place enough, and Ron wasn't so stupid as to think that confronting Nigel was going to go easily at all. Even if Malfoy and Oliver were right, though Ron was sure they weren't. Nigel had only wanted to get off, not to get involved; he'd made that clear enough, now hadn't he?

The pub briefly filled with streetlight as Ron slipped in. He moved carefully, trying not to jostle anyone as he looked around for Nigel; the last thing he really wanted just now was to be noticed. What Ron really wanted to know, of course, was what in the bloody hell Nigel was doing in a place like this. Ron was sure he'd seen at least half a dozen guns and twice as many knives as he weaved between the people. Really, Ron had an honest reason for hoping that Malfoy had been wrong this time.

Finally, Ron saw Nigel, sitting in a booth along the back wall of the pub, glaring down at his drink. _This should be fun_.  
Nigel slouched back in his booth and took another swig of his beer. His eyes moved over the other patrons, the dark and seedy atmosphere, and he sneered. Mostly at himself, if he were honest. This sort of bar was not his sort of bar, not at all, but ever since he'd been back in London the thought of the noise and the boys at his regular haunts was completely unappealing. Fucking Bill and his fucking lies about Ron. Fucking Ron and his fucking petrifying spells and his eyes that seemed to see right through the bull. Fucking Goblins and their fucking secrets and statues and bloody jobs in bloody fucking Africa. Nigel scowled and sat forward, hunched over his beer.

"Fuck off," Nigel growled when someone slid into the booth across from him. He didn't look up, didn't care who it was, just wanted them to go away. He couldn't help but look up, though, as he took another swallow of his beer, and his scowl deepened when he saw who it was. "You. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I come here all the time," Ron said with an answering frown. "Shouldn't you be at some club, fucking the nearest virgin so you can tell him to piss off when you've gotten your jollies?" Now that hadn't been what he'd meant to say at all, and Ron wasn't sure where it had come from. Actually, no, on second thought, Ron knew exactly where it had come from. He shifted uncomfortably in the dirty booth and briefly entertained the idea of ordering a drink.

Nigel snorted out a derisive laugh. "I don't care if you're living upstairs above the fucking bar, what the _fuck_ are you doing _here_?" Nigel swallowed the last of his beer and slammed the empty bottle on the table in front of Ron. He leaned in and sneered. "Is that what you told your fucking brother? That big bad Nigel fucked poor wee virgin Ronniekins and then dumped him like yesterday's rubbish?" Nigel leaned back again and waved at the bartender, hoping he'd get that Nigel needed something much stronger than beer this time. "Bet you didn't tell him that _you're_ the one who jumped _me_ , did you?"

"The fuck are you talking about?" Ron said as he turned and stopped the bartender with a shake of his head. He wheeled back with glare. "I haven't talked to Bill, and could you fucking keep it down? The sort that come to pubs like this don't much like _pillow biters_ , got it?"

Reaching across the table, Nigel shoved Ron hard, pushing him back into his bench. "I want that fucking drink, and if you have a problem with my _volume_ , all you have to do is leave." Nigel glared and pushed himself out of the booth, intending to go directly to the bar so Ron couldn't interfere again.

"I think you've had enough," Ron said, jumping up and grabbing Nigel's arm. "And I can't talk to you if you're fucking pissed."

"I don't _want_ to talk to you!" Nigel growled. He pulled his arm free from Ron's grasp and turned, hand curling into a fist. He buried his fist in Ron's stomach. "Fuck _off_."

Ron grunted as he absorbed the blow. Before he could straighten, Ron was already swinging up, a hard punch to Nigel's side. "Fucker!" he gasped, stepping back and coughing.

Nigel stumbled and fell on his arse, his hand going automatically to his side. His eyes narrowed and he sneered up at Ron. "Yeah," he said, "I was." He launched himself off the floor, arms going around Ron's waist as he sent them both flying.

Back slamming against the floor, Ron flipped, reversing their positions. "Only 'cause you didn't have anything better," he snarled. He grabbed Nigel by the shoulders, knocking his head on the dirty floorboards. There was a distinct _shick-click_ sound behind them, and Ron froze, looking over his shoulder and into the muzzle of a loaded and cocked shotgun.

"Neither one of you blokes is regular 'nough here to start breaking up my place," the bartender growled, nudging Ron's long nose with the rifle. "So why don't you get off the drunk and get the both of you gone?"

"All right," Ron said, slowly backing up and letting go of Nigel. "We're gone. No need for any more excitement, yeah?"

Nigel glared at both Ron and the bartender and stood slowly. He dug some pound notes out of his pocket and tossed them at the bartender's feet. "No problem," he said. Carefully moving around Ron, Nigel kept his hands loose and visible as he walked steadily toward the door. He could _feel_ the giant target in the center of his back and fought not to shudder in reaction, but he didn't manage a deep breath until he'd gone through the door and out into the dark street.

Ron followed not far behind, backing out to make sure they didn't have any extra company. Once the door swung shut behind them, Ron turned and hurried to catch up with Nigel.

"Hey!" he called, but Nigel didn't stop. Jogging, Ron caught Nigel but the arm again, but this time he was ready to dodge if need be. "Hey, I was _talking_ to you, you self-important bastard!"

"And I said I didn't want to talk to you." Nigel huffed out a resigned breath and stopped, letting his head fall back to stare up at the stars. "Leave me alone, Ron." His hands curled into fists again, not to strike out but to keep from grabbing Ron and pulling him close. Really, this was not fair. He was too drunk to be able to deal with Ron and not drunk enough to keep himself out of trouble. And god, he _needed_. Nigel swallowed hard.

Well, Ron had wanted to know if maybe he'd been wrong and Oliver had been right. And Nigel couldn't have made it any more clear that he wanted nothing to do with Ron. Fucking Malfoy and his fucking ideas. Ron was going to have _words_ with that bloke later. Words that involved fists and neither of them being on the clock. He let go of Nigel's arm and stepped back like he'd been burned. "Well fuck you too," he said, going back another step. "So sorry to bother you. I'll just go now. Leave you to destroy your liver in peace. But just so you know," he added with a sneer, "I didn't say a fucking thing to Bill."

"Right." Nigel turned to face Ron, taking a step forward for each of Ron's steps back. "You didn't say a thing. Not a bloody thing. So explain," he said, leaning in to whisper the words nearly against Ron's lips, "how he knew you sucked my cock." Nigel kept walking when Ron stopped, forcing him back. He didn't say anything else until he had Ron right up against a storefront, the darkened windows behind Ron showing Nigel his own reflection. He looked away and leant in to nose at Ron's ear. "What did you want, Ron? Why did you _bother_ me?" Settling himself directly in front of Ron, Nigel closed his eyes and drank in the warmth of Ron's body. The only place they touched was Nigel's nose at Ron's ear, but it was a near thing. It wouldn't take much for Nigel to be pressed to Ron shoulders to knees. "You wanted to talk. Talk. Why don't you start with Bill's big brother routine in my office today."

"Bloody Bill," Ron cursed softly, glad his voice didn't sound near as breathless as he felt, because Nigel was _right there_ , and here he was back where all this started because Ron couldn't ever seem to _not_ want to touch Nigel when they got close like this. "Oliver must have told him... I asked him not to. And I didn't mention anything about cock sucking or _you_ being the one who started it because you couldn't keep your mouth to yourself."

Nigel bit back a whimper. Ron's voice was rough and sounded a lot like it had when he'd been begging Nigel to fuck him, touch him. Nigel's own voice lowered even further as his control slipped another notch. "Oliver tells Bill everything. He always has, even when it used to make Bill uncomfortable. And Bill's not above using sex to get Oliver to talk, either, because Oliver cannot keep a secret even if he tries. You can see in his face that there's something he's not saying." Nigel breathed in deeply through his nose, filling himself with the warmth of Ron's scent. "You should have left me alone in the forest. It's your fault."

Ron's head thunked back against the glass. "You kissed me like I mattered," he breathed, eyes closed. "So, for me, it did. You selfish bastard." Opening his eyes, Ron shook himself and stepped forward, pressing their chests together as he glared at Nigel. "Makes me wonder how you can fuck someone you don't remotely like, but you wouldn't answer me even if I asked."

"Same way you fuck someone you don't respect," Nigel rasped. _You matter,_ he thought. _God help me, you're the only thing that does._ Nigel was the one to step back this time. His buzz was fading, letting the pain creep back in, worse because Ron was _right there_. "Same way you fuck someone you think is completely lacking in intelligence. Or common sense."

"Something else you're good at," Ron spat, pushing Nigel's shoulder and then crowding close again. He was just tall enough to loom, and it felt so _good_ to be even this close. And Ron knew he wasn't likely to get it again. He laughed, bitter and harsh. "I can't believe I fucking listened to Oliver instead of writing you off like you've done me. God, I'm so fucking stupid!"

"I wrote _you_ off? Oh, that's bloody rich, is what that is." Nigel threw up his hands and stalked away, then turned around and stomped right back to poke Ron in the chest with one finger. "I was the bloody fucking experiment. Straight boy."

Ron stopped in his tracks and scowled in confusion. "Experiment? What in the great bloody _fuck_ are you on about?"

Nigel raised an eyebrow. "You're straight. You said so. Bill said so. Everyone said so." Nigel shrugged. Well, it had only been Bill and Ron, but they'd know. "And then suddenly you're jumping me in the forest." Nigel moved in close again. "Watching me have a wank," he murmured suggestively. Then he sighed and stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders slumped. "Never mind. You're right. All my life it's been meaningless sex with nameless boys, I suppose it's only cosmic justice that it's come back to bite me in the arse."

"I wanted you, you great idiot!" Ron snapped. "Though I can't quite remember why just now, what with you being fucking insane and not making a drop of sense!"

"Because I sucked your cock, you great idiot!" Nigel snapped back. "And we were all alone and you were curious and I was randy."

For a long moment, Ron just gaped at Nigel, absolutely floored that he'd have such a dim view of things. Hadn't he seen how pathetically _needy_ Ron had been? That wasn't bloody curiousity!

"But not now," Ron growled dangerously, gathering himself and walking around Nigel, forcing the other man to either turn to face him or have Ron at his back. "Now there's loads of people nearby, and I know exactly what having my arse fucked is like, and you'd rather drink than fuck, right?"

"Right," Nigel said tiredly. He'd turned when Ron had moved around him but now he turned away again. "Whatever you say." His brain was reminding him exactly what fucking Ron's arse was like, and he put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands briefly before dropping his arms to his sides. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find another bar to get that drink, since you got me kicked out of the last one."

"We're home now," Ron said, nearly murmuring in Nigel's ear, his chest brushing Nigel's back with each breath. He'd prove Nigel wrong if it was the last thing he did. At least about one thing, because if Nigel didn't want him (like Ron had been sure of since they got back), then it wouldn't matter at all that there hadn't been a single night in the past two weeks that Ron hadn't dreamt of Nigel. But still, it was the principle of the thing, and if Nigel didn't want him, at least it would give Ron the perfect reason to lay him out right then and there. He tugged on Nigel's arm. "Look at me, Nigel. We're home now and the possibilities for us both are endless. Which means there's no reason to do anything but what we want, right?"

"What we want?" Nigel said incredulously. He turned suddenly, grabbed Ron's biceps and walked, forcing him back against those darkened store windows again. "Do you even have the faintest idea what I want?" Nigel was breathing hard, much harder than he should have been, and his heart was racing. Tightening his grip on Ron's arms, Nigel leaned in and rasped, "I want to fuck you raw. I want to bend you over and shove my cock so hard into your arse that you feel it for the rest of your life. I want to stand with you across from the mirror in my bedroom with your back against my chest and your leg hooked over my arm while I fuck you so we can both watch." His breath hitched but he continued, "I want to wrap myself around you and hold you while we sleep. I want to wake you slowly with my mouth and tongue and hands, take you up carefully until you slip over the edge and then catch you when you fall. I want," Nigel said harshly, letting go of Ron's arms and stepping back, "to mock your first gray hair, to kiss your wrinkles, to make you fetch my cane. I will not be one last fling before you find the little woman and settle down. I can't be."

Ron sucked in a breath, not quite able to understand, to believe what he was hearing. Everything, all of it was more than he'd even dared let himself want to hear, and Ron didn't really know what to do or say first, because it all wanted to happen at once. He suddenly realised he was taking too long, that it looked wrong to Nigel, when Nigel huffed out a breath and threw up his hands as though to say he gave up and turned to leave.

"No!" Ron sprang into action, cupping Nigel's head in both hands and pulling him back and spinning them around so now it was Nigel pressed against the glass. "I don't want a woman, you idiot," he ground out, and closed the distance between their mouths, kissing Nigel hard. He wanted to say so much more, but Nigel was there and wanted him, wanted all of him and Ron felt like a bloody girl, but that's how it was, so Ron just kept kissing Nigel, pouring all of what he felt into those kisses. "I want _you_."

"I need you," Nigel breathed, kissing Ron back desperately, hands digging into Ron's waist, fingers curling in his clothes. "Oh god. Don't, don't do this if you don't mean it." Nigel broke the kiss and buried his forehead in Ron's shoulder as he gasped for air. "Bill told Oliver he should fuck other blokes, experiment. I can't..." Nigel broke off and sucked in more air, unable to finish. Unable to bear the thought of someone else touching Ron the way only he had. _Mine_.

"Don't make me hit you again," Ron said threateningly, his hands tightening on Nigel's head. "I'm not Oliver and I'm a grown damn man who knows what he wants and it's not my big brother and his fucked up sense of morality. It's you, Nigel, so just stop trying to make me into someone I'm not and we'll be fine."

Nigel laughed softly. "I'm not, I just -" He laughed again. "Bill was afraid of how he felt and that was his excuse to push Oliver away. But he had a point." Nigel pulled back enough to meet Ron's eyes with a wry smile. "I'm a good fuck. What if that's all it really is?"

"You're really going to keep pushing until I say it, aren't you?" Ron groaned, resting his forehead against Nigel's.

"I have to," Nigel whispered. He closed his eyes again, nuzzled Ron's nose with his own. He needed to hear it, needed to say it himself. "Just once, I swear."

Ron snorted and grinned crookedly. "Just the once, huh?" he asked teasingly. His hands relaxed at last, one smoothing down Nigel's chest and around his strong, solid waist and the other staying put to gently cradle Nigel's head. "I'll probably say it a million times if you let me, but it's just that I'm not so used to saying some things," he said softly, nuzzling back. "Especially as I'm so arse over teakettle in love with you I can't think right."

Nigel made weak needy sound that embarrassed him drunk and would have mortified him sober. "I love you," he breathed. His knees felt liquid and he was absurdly grateful to have the windows at his back and Ron pressed to his front. He let go of Ron's shirt and slid his arms all the way around Ron's waist, hands curving around his hips from behind. "I missed you."

"So fucking much," Ron agreed, kissing Nigel once. There was a sudden burst of loud noise behind them as the door to the pub swung open, and Ron reacted instinctively, casting a Concealment charm on the both of them and turning so his body was between the door and Nigel. "Maybe we should go somewhere," Ron murmured in Nigel's ear, shifting so Nigel could see over his shoulder and watch his back.

"Since they don't like pillow biters?" Nigel's voice was amused, but he straightened and watched warily over Ron's shoulder. Ron, who'd put his back to the danger, whose skin had to be crawling at exposing himself that way. Nigel waited until the men had left, then tightened himself around Ron and Apparated them to his flat. "Another beer and you'd've had to do that instead."

"Another beer and I'd've made you wait until tomorrow before I said I love you," Ron said in a dry voice, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Nigel's eyebrow matched Ron's. "Oh really?" he said. His lips twitched. Curling one hand in the front of Ron's jeans, Nigel led him into the bedroom. "I guess it's a good thing you found me when you did, then."

"I guess so," Ron laughed, rolling his eyes. He stumbled happily after Nigel, grinning. "You know, I should probably say something about us waiting to do anything else until you're actually sober again," he said, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Nigel's jeans and pulling him close as they stood in the bedroom doorway. "But I'm not even half as noble as all that."

"Good thing," Nigel grinned. "Of course, I'd change your mind for you anyway." Nigel pulled free of Ron's grip and pushed him back toward the bed. His head was spinning and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't passed out somewhere and dreaming this, but he wasn't about to do anything to wake up. Not when he had Ron, here, _his_. He pushed again and Ron fell back on the bed, and Nigel immediately crawled onto the bed over Ron, pinning him to the mattress. "I'm not completely drunk."

"Oh really?" Ron asked, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. His hands worked together, tugging up on the tail of Nigel's button-down, pulling it out of his jeans. "That confident in our powers of seduction, are we?" he said, unable to resist teasing as he slid the rough tips of his fingers over the smooth, warm skin of the small of Nigel's back.

Nigel shook his head slowly. _You love me._ Then he grinned and nodded. "I told you I'm a good fuck," he said, pushing the thin fabric of Ron's jumper up, out of his way. Bending, he pressed his mouth to Ron's stomach, tongue darting out to taste.

Groaning quietly, Ron shifted and pulled his jumper up and off. "I wouldn't know about that," he said, combing his fingers through Nigel's hair. "Not much to compare to," he added teasingly. "Reckon I'll have to take your word on it, you know?"

"Yeah, reckon you will." Nigel resisted the need to growl. Barely. Instead he licked a long slow line up the centre of Ron's chest. _Mine_. He switched to teeth when he reached Ron's neck, nibbling up and over Ron's chin before pressing their mouths together.

Ron sighed into the kiss. "Yeah, I will," he breathed, opening to Nigel, pushing Nigel's shirt up, sliding his hands up Nigel's sides. "God, love, I need you so much."

Nigel's breath caught. "Then have me," he said quietly. "I'm yours." His heart turned over at saying those words, at the truth of them. He'd never said them before. To cover his sudden feeling of exposure, Nigel sat up and unbuttoned his shirt just enough so he could tug it off over his head and toss it to the floor, then started opening Ron's jeans.

"Fuck," Ron managed in a strangled voice. There was something about the way that Nigel said that that Ron _knew_ he meant it on more than one level. At the same time, Nigel was studiously Not Looking at Ron, focusing on undressing him instead. The body language just screamed nervousness, and Ron covered Nigel's hands with his own. "I love you," he said, not sure what else to say, not sure how to make Nigel relax. Trying to lighten the mood some, Ron summoned up a crooked grin. "We can always wait until morning to finish making up. I'll even let you have the first shower and wank tonight."

"Oh, _hell_ no," Nigel said, managing a grin, finally looking at Ron. "I've never gone this long without sex between assignments. Clearly, this is something that needs to be addressed immediately."

"Oh it does, does it?" Ron laughed, hands already working on the flies of Nigel's jeans, rubbing him through the denim. "Aren't I worth waiting for?" he added with a ridiculous flutter of pale red lashes.

Nigel's face flushed - god, it felt so good to have Ron's hands on him again. "I waited," he rumbled, finally getting Ron's jeans open so he could shove his hand inside. He grinned at Ron as his fingers curled around Ron's cock. His smile faded, and he leant down to kiss Ron again and again. "God, I waited."

Ron finally got Nigel's jeans open, but instead of going for his cock, Ron reached around and slid his hands under the denim, cupping Nigel's bare arse. "No pants," Ron murmured between kisses, and laughed softly, squeezing. "Easy access?"

"You should be glad," Nigel said, feeling his face flush for an entirely different reason this time. He stroked Ron slowly and laughed. "I can go put some on if it would make you more comfortable."

"Prat," Ron groaned, pushing up into Nigel's hand and nipping at his lower lip. He squirmed, kicking off his trainers, and pulled Nigel closer. "Personally, I'd rather less clothes altogether."

"We can do that, too." Nigel pulled back after one more kiss and toed off his own shoes before shucking his jeans completely. He went after Ron's, then, curling his fingers into the waistband of pants and jeans and pulling them slowly off, kissing the inside of Ron's knee as he dropped them to the floor. "Better?" he asked, smirking.

Ron laughed happily. "Yes," he said, already reaching for Nigel. "C'mere?" When Nigel did, Ron wrapped his arms around him and rolled, covering Nigel with his lanky body. He paused, thinking tender and emotional thoughts that didn't really need to be said just then, not when Nigel finally got it, and not when the rest of Ron's body had much more entertaining things in mind. "Did I ever tell you how much I love the way you taste?" Ron asked, licking Nigel's neck, sliding down and licking his collarbone, and moving downwards still.

Nigel's hands stroked slowly up Ron's spine. "You may have mentioned it," he murmured. "You can tell me again." He shifted under Ron's hands and lips, curling one leg around Ron's. He felt hazy, so good, and his lips curved in a slow smile.

Grinning and deciding that it would be bloody _stupid_ not to take advantage of Nigel when he was this pliable, Ron shimmied down, kissing a slow and steady path to Nigel's stomach, nibbling at his navel. "You taste like nothing else in this world," Ron murmured against warm skin, kissing down the curve of Nigel's hip. "You taste like everything I've ever wanted or needed."

Nigel shifted to open his legs, just in case Ron needed access. "I am unique," he agreed. His fingers stroked absently through Ron's hair, down over his neck, back up into his hair. He wondered if Ron could taste all the alcohol he'd drunk since leaving Ron in that alley, then realised that he was perhaps slightly more drunk than he'd thought. "That feels good," Nigel said, deciding Ron didn't need to know exactly how drunk he was.

"That's rather the point," Ron said with a laugh, curving one hand under Nigel's hip and holding his cock steady as he slowly wrapped his lips around Nigel's length, tasting him again. Finally. Ron groaned softly, swirled his tongue around the head, his eyes fluttering shut as he sucked and lowered his head carefully, bobbing up and then down again.

"Oh _god_." Nigel sucked in air, one hand tangling in Ron's hair as the other reached down, fisting in the bedding next to his hip. The wet heat around his cock felt bloody incredible, and the fact that it was _Ron_ put it on an entirely higher level. "You were right," he mumbled, "fuck. Ron."

"Hmm?" Ron hummed around Nigel's cock, curious but not enough so to stop what he was doing. Instead, he just sucked harder, bobbed his head down further. Unwrapping his hand from around Nigel's hot shaft, Ron cradled his balls, stroking them gently. He didn't just want to taste Nigel again, he _needed_ it, and Ron was determined to have it.

Nigel's legs widened and he fought his instinct to thrust up, into Ron's mouth. "Fucking idiot," he gasped. He tugged at the blanket, neck arching. The need screaming through him had taken him by surprise, but it was Ron, and he'd needed him, missed him so much. "I'm - Ron. I can't... god."

And then Ron swallowed, his nose pressed against Nigel's body as he moaned encouragingly, squeezing Nigel's hip, fingers teasing behind his balls. _Want it, want you_ , he thought, moaning again. _Come for me, love_.

" _Ron._ " Nigel couldn't help it; he arched up hard, babbling apologies as he came. Too fast, it had happened too fast and Nigel hadn't wanted it to end but he couldn't stop it. He'd missed Ron too much, needed him too much. "God, Ron."

Damn near shaking, Ron swallowed and licked until Nigel was clean, and then crawled up, kissing and reversing his path down. "What was I right about?" he asked, trying to pull himself back from the edge of his own orgasm, body responding instinctively to Nigel's and wanting to follow him over.

Nigel had to think about that for a minute, pleasure and alcohol combined to scramble his brains. "Hm. M'a fucking idiot." He tugged Ron up his body so he could kiss him, long slow strokes of his tongue into Ron's mouth. He could taste himself. With a moan, Nigel reached to grasp Ron's cock again. "Your turn."

" _Fucking hell_ ," Ron said, stopping Nigel's hand before he could come too. Now he really was shaking, needy and so very hard and somehow there was nothing more important right now than what he wanted, what he needed to ask for. "Nige... Nigel," he panted, pausing to lick his lips. "Nigel, I want you. So fucking much, I want you so much I can almost feel you. Please?"

"Yours," Nigel breathed, tangling their fingers together. Something cold shivered down his spine but he pushed it away. This was Ron. And Nigel was much older now. "I love you."

Kissing Nigel's knuckles, Ron turned their hands to nip at the pad of the other man's thumb, smiling gently. Then he moved, stretching over the side of the bed Nigel had always taken when they slept together in Africa, and rummaged in the bedside drawer until he found the lube stashed there. Grinning fondly at how predictable Nigel was, and doing his best to cover up a sudden surge of nerves, Ron rolled to the side, hooking one leg over Nigel's and smoothing his hand over Nigel's stomach, the lube set aside for now.

"Yours back," he murmured, nosing Nigel's ear, kissing once.

Nigel cupped Ron's jaw and guided his mouth back until they could properly kiss again. "What are you waiting for?" he asked between kisses.

Ron snorted. "Fine, fine, I won't bother with romance," he said, opening the lube and slicking his fingers. "Just remember that when you start wanting hearts and flowers, yeah?" Slowly, carefully, Ron reached under, shifting them around so now one of Nigel's legs was over him, and pushed until he found Nigel's tight entrance, and circled it slowly with one finger, terrified that he was going to ruin this. Ron'd fucked before, but not like this, and if Nigel's anxiousness was anything to go by, this wasn't exactly something he did very often, either. "Tell me if you need anything," he breathed against Nigel's mouth, and then pushed, one finger smoothly invading.

"Just you," Nigel said, forcing himself to breathe. Really, this was ridiculous. _Relax, you're a moron._ Nigel hitched his leg higher and kissed Ron again, trying to distract himself with the taste and feel of Ron's mouth and tongue, trying to ignore Ron's finger inside him. He barely managed not to snort out a laugh. As if he could ignore _that_.

"You have me," Ron whispered, working his finger in and out a few more times before adding a second one, pushing slower than before and curling his fingers steadily as he went, trying to find Nigel's prostate, hoping that would help him to relax. "I'm yours, no matter how much of an idiot you are."

Nigel laughed at that. "No matter how much, huh? I may end up testing that, you know." He gasped as Ron found what he was looking for, sparks shooting up his spine. " _Ron_." Oh god, that was good. His body relaxed into the push of Ron's fingers. "Again."

Ron smiled, a feral expression that he buried against Nigel's neck. "Gladly," he rasped, his need crashing back in on him in the instant Nigel relaxed to him. He scraped his fingers over the bump he'd found, once, twice, and a third time in quick succession, knowing how good it felt and wanting to drive Nigel mad from it. Then with hardly a pause, Ron added a third finger, pressing Nigel's prostate _again_ once he'd worked deep enough.

"Oh, god," Nigel said. His hips moved in a slow roll, the pleasure building, overcoming the nerves and burying the discomfort of having Ron's fingers stretching him open. It had been so long since he'd been touched like this. "Don't wait for me," he murmured, "I'm too old to get hard again already." He grinned. "But if you tell Bill I said that I'll deny it."

"Can we not talk about my brother when we're fucking?" Ron asked with a breathless chuckle. He twisted his wrist and worked his fingers back and forth. "Fuck, you're so _tight_."

Nigel's grin vanished. "Sorry, it's been a long time. And sorry, Bill's my best mate." He managed another grin. "His name just slipped out."

"Again with that name!" Ron growled playfully, hand moving a bit harder. "Do you want me to go soft, love? Leave me hanging and you not having to do any work?"

" _Fuck_. I, uh. Damn." Nigel took a breath. "I've already come, so if you're soft, then..." He managed a shrug and a smirk, but he reached between them to stroke Ron's cock.

Ron moved, clumsy and more than half-desperate, climbing between Nigel's legs and pulling his hand free to stroke himself, slicking his own cock quickly. "Love, I can't..." he managed, and leant over to kiss Nigel again. "How do you want...?"

"I need to see you," Nigel said. "I need to see it's you." He lay back and brought his knees up on either side of Ron, reaching to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," he said again, eyes intent on Ron's face. "Just go slow."

"Okay." Ron nodded his head, frowning slightly in concern. But one look at Nigel's face stopped Ron from saying or doing anything too noble. "Is now the time to tell you I'm too nervous to do anything but go slow anyhow?" he asked, trying to tease even though he knew his face was darkening, clouding over with want as he positioned himself and pushed, gently at first and then harder, harder, trying to get inside of Nigel. "Breathe," he said, huffing a laugh out his nose even as his eyes fluttered shut briefly and Ron himself forgot to breathe because he was sliding in, Nigel was letting him in at last.

It hurt, but Nigel had known it would. It wasn't the tearing pain he remembered, just the burning stretch of his muscles giving way as Ron pressed inside. And it was _Ron_ , face flushed under his freckles, eyes shut, red hair falling over his forehead. Nigel smiled and reached up to cup Ron's cheek. "I'm breathing," Nigel said softly. "Are you?"

"I thought..." Ron groaned, his eyes opening slowly. "I thought you were supposed to do that for both of us," he finally said, pushing deeper and then stopping, trying to get a handle on himself. "Nigel..." he groaned, and turned his head to kiss Nigel's palm. "I love you."

"I love you," Nigel said. He guided Ron's mouth back to his, kissed him slowly. "Never letting you go," he murmured, "you're mine." He tightened his muscles on Ron, squeezing and releasing, then again.

Ron whimpered against Nigel's lips and then started rocking back and forth, knowing the moves now. Same dance, different sort of partner, and the partner that a part of Ron's heart giddily wanted to claim as the one he'd been wanting all along, no matter how stupid that sounded. In and out Ron went, moving deeper each time, moaning raggedly when his balls finally brushed Nigel's arse. "Oh _god_ ," he gasped, breaking away from Nigel's mouth to drop messy kisses on his neck, teeth scraping and tongue tasting.

Nigel arched his neck and moaned. "Good," he whispered, and was mildly surprised that it really was, that having Ron sliding in and out sent pleasure curling through his stomach and groin. He squeezed Ron again, tangled his hands in Ron's hair. "Move."

"All part of the plan," Ron panted, pulling back and thrusting back in slowly, filling Nigel again, and then again. It was a struggle, but Ron somehow managed to keep his eyes open the barest of slits as he moved, and pulled back enough to see Nigel, to see pleasure slowly creeping across his face. It was beautiful and mind-blowing and Ron might have muttered something about it, but he wasn't entirely sure as he picked up a bit more speed, needing to be inside of Nigel _more_.

"God, yes," Nigel moaned, the increase in friction sending pleasure from a lazy curl in his gut to sparks up his spine. He started lifting up into each thrust, hands moving restlessly over Ron's back. It wasn't enough, and Nigel wrapped his legs around Ron's hips, changing the angle of Ron's slide inside him. It forced a gasp from his throat. "Ron! Oh god, harder. Fuck me. _Please_."

A needy shudder wracked Ron's body as he curved over Nigel, driving into him now. He was half-sobbing against Nigel's neck, unable to control himself, lost in it. "God, Nigel," he groaned, and couldn't complete any sort of thought out loud when he felt Nigel flutter around him. Teeth latched onto Nigel's shoulder and Ron cried out, the sound muffled as he moved even harder and let go.

Nigel stroked Ron's back, his hair, making soothing noises as they moved together. "Come on, baby, it's okay, you're okay." Nigel pressed his lips to Ron's hair. "Come for me," he murmured. His own need took a back seat to Ron's, to the wild pleasure Nigel could see in Ron's eyes, especially since he'd already come so hard in Ron's mouth. "Fill me. I've got you."

The endearment shot right through Ron, and it had been _so long_ since he'd been inside someone, and never before had anyone, _anyone_ felt like this, been this tight, this perfect and he couldn't hold out any more. Mouth hanging open and forehead beaded with sweat, Ron pushed up just enough to rest his forehead on Nigel's and cried out, back curving and cock emptying in long, hot pulses.

"Ron," Nigel breathed. He wrapped his arms around Ron to hold him, tightened his legs around Ron's waist as Ron convulsed above him. In him. Nigel drew in a shuddering breath and then blew it out again with a self-derisive smile. He'd survived, even enjoyed, being fucked. But he didn't want to do it again this way very soon. "I love you."

"Mmm..." Ron rumbled, rolling to Nigel's side. His hands moved shakily, petting any part the could reach, and when he encountered Nigel's cock, mostly hard, Ron curled his fingers around the length. "Do you..." he managed. "Do you wanna?"

Nigel reached down to take Ron's hand off his cock, tangling their fingers and lifting their hands to his mouth. "I did already," he murmured, and nipped at Ron's knuckle. He grinned wryly. "I'm quite a bit older than you."

Ron laughed, a breathless and happy sound, and rolled onto his back to stretch, keeping their hands together. "One of us has to be the young and spry one," he said, grinning lazily, "and it might as well be me." He glanced at Nigel out of the corner of his eye. "All right there, love?"

"Perfect," Nigel said. "I have a young and spry lover to wear me out." Nigel turned on his side, lightly stroking his free hand over Ron's stomach and chest. He watched his fingers moving over freckled skin for several seconds before saying quietly, "I understand why you petrified me. It still makes me angry, but I understand." He lifted his eyes to meet Ron's, his expression serious. "Do you understand that it's the same reason why I didn't want you with me when I broke those curses? It had nothing to do with your skills, or training. I never had anything but complete faith in your ability to do your job." One corner of his mouth kicked up. "I wanted to wrap you in cotton wool and tuck you somewhere safe, but I knew you could handle yourself. Protect us. Even though I just wanted to protect you."

"I get it," Ron said, squeezing Nigel's fingers. "Just like I loved you too bloody much to take the chance with your life." He turned his head and met Nigel's serious brown eyes. "Though, looking back, it wasn't what you could call one of my better ideas. More like one of my worst, even."

Nigel snorted a soft laugh. "I can get behind that." He shifted so he could kiss Ron again, his hand drifting up Ron's body to cup his face. "I'm never letting you go again," he murmured, then grinned against Ron's mouth. "But _god_. I'm never working with you again."

"I can get behind that," Ron laughed. "Oliver kept saying how easy going you were, and all I could think is that there must be two Nigels, and that was just a horrifying prospect."

Rolling onto his back, Nigel laughed, hard. "No," he finally managed, still chuckling, "there's only one Nigel. I don't think the world could handle more than one me, to be honest." He rested his hand on his own stomach and gave Ron a curious look. "What else did Oliver say, hm?"

"Give love a chance and all that," Ron said. "Not that I was in any place to listen, mind. But," he added, grin broadening wickedly, "he agreed with me that you're a condescending lunatic."

"He would, the little wanker," Nigel said fondly, and laughed again. "It's funny, that's not far off what I told Bill back in the day." Nigel yawned and scratched his ribs. "They were both so bloody stubborn. And stupid!" Shaking his head, Nigel chuckled again. "Only time Oliver ever listened to me."

Ron quirked an eyebrow; that was the second time someone had said something hinting that what the Weasley family knew as the early days of Bill and Oliver's relationship were anything but. "I'm going to have to ask you about that some day," he said. "Some day when we're not naked and I'm not still thinking about how bloody brilliant you felt."

Nigel smirked at Ron. "Fair enough. But it would really make Bill squirm, to know he was the topic of our pillow talk." Nigel grinned suddenly, wide and wicked. "Maybe I'll tell him he was anyway. He deserves it."

Barking out a laugh, Ron rolled onto his side to face Nigel, and grinned. "If you say so," he said, patting Nigel's hip. He was momentarily distracted by the way their skin looked together, and Ron's smile softened. "That really was brill, Nige," he said, leaning for a kiss. "M'sure I wasn't nearly as good at it as I thought I was, though."

"You were good," Nigel said. He cupped Ron's face as they kissed, fighting the instinctive urge to say _you'll do better with practice_ or something like it. He couldn't even say he'd come, because he hadn't. Not then.

"So says the bloke who obviously doesn't have much comparison," Ron said, deliberately keeping his voice light. He was trained to read people, and he knew there was Something Going On With Nigel, and that it was probably one of those things it would only suck more to pull it out than to just wait.

Nigel raised an eyebrow challengingly. "You said it was, and I quote, _really brill_. So it couldn't have been that obvious." Nigel realised a fraction too late that he was admitting he didn't have much comparison, and quickly added, "I told you I'm a good fuck, and that doesn't happen by accident, you know." He bit his tongue - _God, Nigel, shut UP_ \- before he dug himself in any deeper.

Ron scowled briefly before smoothing out his expression and rolling onto his back. "Didn't mean to question your fuckability," he said, voice tetchy. He coughed, cleared his throat, and recovered enough to turn back with a sheepish half-smile. "I just got the feel it was a big deal, is all. Like it is for me, the sex thing, I mean."

With a soft huff of breath that wasn't quite a laugh, Nigel gave in. Unconsciously he wrapped his arms around his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. "I guess this is something you tell the one you love." He shot Ron a look that wanted to be hard but was deeply unsettled instead. "And no one else, yeah?" Looking back at the ceiling, Nigel said softly, "I don't bottom ever. When I was a lot younger than you are now, I had a mad crush on an older schoolmate. He finally noticed, and figured he could take what he wanted and that I didn't matter. A lot of boys are careless and arrogant at that age, and he was moreso than most." Nigel shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. "I took from that experience the determination to never hurt those who let me into their bodies the way that boy had hurt me." He laughed briefly. "And to not ever let anyone into my body again." Nigel ran a hand roughly over his face. "So no, I don't think it's quite the same as the sex thing for you, but it is a big deal. It shouldn't be, it was ages ago, but it's sort of a visceral thing."

Slowly, as carefully as if he were aproaching an easily spooked animal, Ron slid his arm over Nigel and tucked his head on Nigel's solid chest. "Thank you," he said softly, working his arm under Nigel's defensively crossed ones. He didn't know what else to say, how he could even hope to make it easier. A part of him pointed out that this meant Ron would like as not only rarely, if ever, top again, but he was strangely all right with that. "Fortunately, I've found a liking for being queer," he said, kissing Nigel's skin. "And for being filled. So I'd say that makes us well matched."

Nigel put one arm around Ron and settled them more comfortably, absently stroking his fingers down Ron's spine. "I trust you," he said. "I don't think about it often and I really would rather not talk about it again."

"Fair enough," Ron said, the pleased smile he wore clear in his voice. "Thank you," he said again, for lack of anything better to say, much less anything that would be able to express how brilliant he felt just then, knowing and understand how much Nigel had given him. "I love you."

"I love you," Nigel murmured. He felt awkward, now that someone else knew, and he didn't quite know what else to say but at the same time there was relief too, that he could share this with Ron. Relief that he wouldn't have to mention it again, and that if he wasn't able to let Ron inside him again, that Ron would understand. Nigel lifted his head to press a kiss to Ron's hair. He put a slightly plaintive note in his voice as he said, "Can I sleep now? Haven't been able to sleep for awhile, and then you went and had your wicked way with my poor tired body. And drunk, don't forget drunk." Nigel grinned. Maybe he didn't feel all that awkward after all.

Ron snorted and grinned against Nigel's chest. "I suppose so," he said with a great sigh. "So long as you promise to have your wicked way with me later. Us young and spry lovers need lots of shagging, you know," he added, looking up with a faint blush, and then paused, half-glaring at Nigel. "Providing you still want me here when you're sober."

Nigel rolled and pinned Ron. "I wasn't _that_ drunk," he murmured with a half-glare of his own. "Just for that, I'm going to make you wait until I'm completely sober, and then I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be walking funny for a week." He rocked his hips into Ron's, bent to kiss him quickly, then rolled off. "And I'm going to sleep first."

Groaning something that might have been the words _prick tease_ , Ron crawled up to kiss Nigel once more. "So sleep already," he said, laughing. "Talk, talk, talk..."

"I'm _trying_ ," Nigel said, biting back his own laughter. "But I've got some kid in my bed who won't stop molesting me. Kids these days, all they want is sex, sex, sex."

"You'd best give him what he wants sooner or later, you know," Ron said sagely. "Otherwise he'll start in on the strange behaviours of the young, spry and sex-deprived. You know, wanking in the loo, molesting aging cursebreakers..."

Nigel gave up and laughed, rolling again to pull Ron against him. "It will have to be later," he said, still laughing, "because _aging_ cursebreakers need rest and just can't get hard that fast. Brat."

Ron laughed and settled quite happily against Nigel. "I'll survive," he said, yawning hugely. To be honest, he hadn't really been sleeping very much at all, and Ron was insanely glad that the next day was a Saturday and he could sleep in, tangled with Nigel once more. "Somehow."

"I'm sure," Nigel said dryly. He tangled their legs, nosed at Ron's cheek. "Go to sleep, love," he whispered and smirked. "I'll wake you when I'm randy again."

"Live to please," Ron murmured, nuzzling closer and yawning again. He felt comfortable and safe, and Ron realised then that he honestly did trust Nigel with his life, especially since he could so easily drop into sleep like this. He grinned sleepily and yawned again, eyes closed. "Like it when you call me baby," he mumbled. "Jus' don' do it in fron' of Bill. Never live it down."

"No, I wouldn't either." Nigel closed his eyes, happier than he could ever remember being. And so fucking _tired_. He started to drift off. "Love you, baby."

~*~*~*~*~*~


	11. Chapter 11

Epilogue  
~~~*~~~

"I had an idea," Oliver murmured, shifting to rub his leg against Bill's, to snuggle closer. He pressed a kiss to Bill's chest.

Sleepy, and not really entirely awake, Bill wrapped his arms around Oliver, nuzzling his sleep-tousled hair. "Merlin help us all," he mumbled finally, grinning at his own joke.

Oliver pinched Bill's side. "Hey," he said, "not nice. Not at all." He fought back a grin and nosed at Bill's jaw. "Maybe I won't tell you then. You like surprises."

"Sorry, pet," Bill chuckled, rubbing Oliver's back soothingly. "But you have to admit those are frightening words first thing. So... this idea of yours?"

"You're just digging yourself in deeper," Oliver said, lifting his head to look down at Bill, eyebrow raised. "It's Ron's Thursday again this week."

Bill managed to look suitably contrite. "Lucky me you're a loving and forgiving sort," he murmured, lifting his head and bending enough to kiss the tip of Oliver's nose. "Ron's Thursday this week. I'm with you so far."

"So. You should invite Nigel to dinner." Oliver waited expectantly, fighting to keep the innocent look on his face.

"Ahhh..." Bill's lips twitched, but he managed to keep a mostly serious expression on his face. "Get them in a room together and hope they play nice?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Ron's a stubborn little shite, and Nigel's twice as bad, Ollie." His mouth twitched again, this time letting a grin peek through. "I'm only doing it if we can take the breakables out of the room first. You know, since we're not meddling, like you said before, yeah?"

Oliver laughed, but his face flushed. "Ron's in love with Nigel. You said Nigel said he's in love with Ron." Oliver leaned down to brush a light kiss over Bill's lips. "I just want them to be happy like we are," he murmured. "And you can take anything out of the room you'd like."

"Good to know I'm allowed to save our attempts at decorating." Bill smiled slightly, the expression melting into a brief and worried scowl. "Nigel's been in a bad place, love," he warned, kissing back. "Things could get pretty ugly." He sighed and traced the length of Oliver's strong back before pulling him over to fully sprawl over Bill's body. "I want them happy, too," he added softly.

"They're in love," Oliver said again. He settled himself more comfortably on top of Bill. "They'll be fine." Biting his lip thoughtfully, Oliver added, "We'll watch them."

"Always the romantic," Bill said, but his eyes were a bit sad. "As much as I still want to hit Nigel for taking up with my baby brother, I love him like a brother, too. He's loony and stubborn, and underneath it all he's the one of the two of us who's always believed in love. I hope you're right, baby; if we meddle this much and things go pear-shaped, we could lose them both, you know."

"We aren't meddling," Oliver insisted, "we're just... providing an opportunity. And they both love us. We won't lose them." He hoped. To be honest, Oliver wasn't entirely sure either one of them would ever speak to _him_ again, but they both loved Bill too much for that. And they were both miserable. He'd seen how lost Ron had looked, and from what Bill had said Nigel wasn't faring much better. Oliver only wanted to help.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 _Nigel,_

 _Now I know you like being left alone to sulk and stew and be anti-social, especially since you're such the shy and retiring sort, but that's just too bad. Come to dinner on Thursday. It's my turn to cook and Oliver keeps asking about you. You know how the kid likes to fuss, and as cute as he is when he gets that line between his eyebrows, if I put him off much longer, I might never get laid again._

 _Thursday. 8 o'clock._

 _~Bill_

 

Nigel raised an eyebrow as he read Bill's owl, absently nosing at Ron's hair then pressing a kiss there. He shifted on the sofa to settle them a bit more comfortably and tightened his arm around Ron's waist. "Didn't you say you were having dinner with Bill and Oliver Thursday?"

"Yeah," Ron said absently, watching a game of what appeared to be the muggle version of quidditch on Nigel's telly. Two teams of blokes, chasing around a black and white quaffle, tripping and jumping around and not once using their hands. Pretty interesting, as far as non-magical sports went, actually. Half-curled against Nigel, Ron, finally looked up. "Every other Thursday I go unless I can get out of it. I like them both well enough, but there's only so much of someone else's happy couple a bloke can take, you know?"

Nigel brought his hand up from Ron's waist to cup his jaw, tilting his head back enough that Nigel could bend forward and give him a slightly awkward kiss. "You've got your own happy couple now, yeah?"

Grinning a bit, Ron shifted to kiss Nigel better. "I reckon I do," he murmured. "So why the sudden interest in my family dinners? Have a better offer for me?"

With a smirk, Nigel handed Ron the owl Bill had sent. "I don't know that I'd call it a _better_ offer, love, but it's an interesting one, certainly. Your brother just can't let well enough alone."

"Genetics," Ron said absently, taking the letter. One eyebrow arched up as he read, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Isn't that sweet? They're trying to get us to make up, love." He twisted and nosed along Nigel's neck, nibbling on his earlobe. "What do you think: will we ever speak to each other again?"

"I think sometimes we talk too much already," Nigel said roughly. He turned Ron completely and laid him flat on the sofa, leaning over him with a grin. "Don't you?"

Ron snorted. " _You're_ the chatty one, Nige," he said, deliberately licking his lips.

With a stifled laugh, Nigel settled himself on Ron, pressing him into the sofa, curling tan fingers through red hair as he brushed his lips over Ron's. "You know how to shut me right up," Nigel breathed, and deepened the kiss.

Groaning softly, Ron wrapped his arms around Nigel and slid his hands down, hesitating only briefly before cupping Nigel's arse and squeezing as the kiss petered out into a series of slower ones. "What?" he asked, lips moving against Nigel's. "Beg you to fuck me until I can barely walk?"

"Nope," Nigel grinned against Ron's mouth. "Just let me do it." Nigel didn't move to suit action to words, though; he left his hands in Ron's hair as they kissed again and again.

Ron snickered. " _Yes, love_ ," he said, moving his leg to rub their calves together as he sucked on Nigel's lower lip, pulling him back in for another kiss. He nibbled and licked, losing himself in how _right_ Nigel tasted and felt, Bill's letter fluttering to the floor in front of the sofa, forgotten.

Nigel was vaguely surprised at how content he was just to taste, to press Ron into the sofa and just _feel_. Eventually, though, it wasn't enough, and he shifted so he could get his hand between them, breaking the string of kisses and nibbling down Ron's neck as he slowly opened Ron's jeans one-handed. Nigel finally got them open and pushed his hand inside to cup Ron through his pants. He nipped at the curve of Ron's shoulder with a soft sound of pleasure.

"You've brilliant hands, Nige," Ron moaned softly, arching under Nigel. Already shirtless because he hadn't bothered to get fully dressed after his shower earlier, Ron started tugging up on Nigel's polo shirt, wanting to feel more of him, wanting to feel their skin together.

Nigel lifted up and let Ron remove his shirt, then lay back down, making that same soft sound now they were skin to skin. "Practised, anyway," Nigel said. He started rubbing Ron with a strong slow stroke, leaning up to kiss him again with the same slow rhythm.

"Whatever," Ron sighed. He lifted his hips, pressing against Nigel's hand with a soft groan. "Just keep right on being brilliant. Practised. Whatever... just do it with me and I'll be -- _god, that feels good, Nige_ \-- I'll be happy."

"Only with you," Nigel murmured, still faintly shocked that he really meant it. That he didn't want anyone else, ever. He smiled. "Because I want you to be happy." Nigel shifted to kneel between Ron's legs, quickly tugging jeans and pants down over his hips and out of the way. Curling one hand around Ron's cock, Nigel bent and licked at the head before taking it into his mouth. He sucked hard once, then slowly bent further forward, taking Ron deeper inside.

Mouth hanging open helplessly, Ron pushed his head back against the sofa cushions and spread his legs further, one foot dropping to the floor. It was a struggle to get his eyes open, but Ron finally managed, lifting his head and watching his cock disappear between Nigel's lips. On the telly, someone was shouting in Italian, and the crowd was going absolutely mad about something that Ron didn't care about just now. He wrapped Nigel's thick hair around his long fingers and whimpered encouragingly. "Bloody _brilliant_ ," he groaned, lifting his hips briefly.

Nigel would have grinned if his mouth hadn't been full. Since he couldn't, he groaned encouragingly, letting the sound vibrate around Ron in his mouth. Wrapping one hand around Ron's hip, Nigel squeezed as he sucked, mouth and hand moving in the same slow steady rhythm. He pulled free just long enough to say, "Fuck my mouth, love," before immediately swallowing Ron down again.

"You insist," Ron gasped, fingers clutching in Nigel's hair. His eyes closed again and let his head flop back, pushing into the cushions as he arched up into Nigel's mouth, his cock sinking into wet warmth, Nigel's tongue running along the sensitive underside. "Oh _fuck_ ," he barely managed, entire body moving slowly up and down, in and out.

Nigel lost himself in the sounds Ron was making, in the feel of thick flesh sliding over his tongue, scraping the roof of his mouth, nudging the back of his throat. He moaned again, swallowed against the head of Ron's cock, sucked it instead of letting it slip from his mouth. Again and again and again until his jaw ached and still he didn't let up, didn't stop. _Come, baby. Let me taste you._

But Ron's entire body was thrumming under Nigel, and he couldn't hold still, he needed more. He needed to be pushed further, harder, needed to have Nigel go with him. "Nigel," he panted, tugging up maybe a bit too sharply on Nigel's hair. "Oh god, Nigel, please. _Fuck me_."

Reluctantly, slowly, Nigel pulled back and let Ron slip from his mouth and sat back, opening his own jeans with shaking hands. He tugged the wand from his pocket and quickly cast a charm, liberally coating his fingers in the resulting lube and then slowly pressing them into Ron's arse. "Soon, Ron," he said roughly, fucking Ron with his fingers, slicking and stretching in the same easy motion. "I'm gonna to put my cock here, gonna push in and in, split you wide around me, make you feel me for days. Fill you completely."

With his jeans still mostly on, tight across the tops of his thighs, Ron could only pull his legs up to his chest, exposing himself to Nigel. He didn't want to wait any more, couldn't stand the idea of it. All he wanted was to be filled, to have exactly what Nigel threatened. "Stop talking about it and _do it_ ," he growled, squeezing around Nigel's fingers. "It's enough. Fuck me. Split me wide."

"I like talking about it," Nigel said, grinning up at Ron as his fingers moved more slowly. "Talking about it makes me really hot. Really hard." Nigel added a twist of his wrist on the next push in. Awkwardly Nigel tugged Ron's clothes further down his legs and off, tossing them out of his way. "And talking about it makes _you_ really hot, too." With a smirk, Nigel pushed Ron's legs back up against his chest. "Put your hands under your knees, baby, hold yourself open for me." Nigel's voice dropped as he added, "So I can fuck you."

"About time, too." Ron's eyes darkened as he grabbed the backs of his knees and pulled back until he was nearly folded in half, breathless with want. "Besides, love, doing's way better than talking. Unless you think you can talk me into coming?"

Raising an eyebrow, Nigel considered. "I think I could," he said, "I think we may have to try that sometime." He pulled his fingers free and used the rest of the lube on himself, running a quick fist over his own cock before kneeling up and positioning himself. "But not this time," he murmured and began to push. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

Ron groaned, rocking helplessly, needing more and deeper and now. He was being stretched, slowly and teasingly, and with his legs up and pinned like this, Ron couldn't do much to change it. "More," he whimpered, bearing down, trying to will Nigel deeper. "Moremore _more_. Make me sore for days."

"I will," Nigel whispered, a sort of promise that seemed to hang in the air between them, if only they'd notice. Nigel swallowed hard and pushed harder, suddenly on the thin edge of control. "Wider," he rasped. He kept moving, working himself in with short shallow thrusts, because _fuck_ Ron was tight, and god he was hot.

"Harder," Ron insisted, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "Won't break, baby. Just... _harder_."

Nigel had never in his life been called 'baby' before and had honestly never expected to. He couldn't have expected his reaction, either; his heart turned over and his control snapped. He took Ron at his word and starting thrusting, setting a hard fast pace because he had no other choice. "Touch yourself," he growled. His hands pushed under Ron's and held his legs up and open wide, Ron's knees nearly at his ears. He knew in the back of his mind that if Ron could breathe at all it wasn't much, and he needed Ron to come before he passed out, needed Ron to come so he himself could. He didn't know if he could wait. "Come. _Now_."

Ron was gasping, his head swimming as Nigel pounded into him over and over. He lost track of time, nothing else mattered but this, how Nigel moved and how he made Ron feel, the world lit up with bright spots of pleasure and lack of oxygen. Through it all, Ron could see Nigel above him, his eyes dark and intense as he looked down, and Ron cried out sharply as his body curled tighter. Desperate to come, pushed too much and just like he'd craved, Ron twisted and thrust his hand between his body and his leg, jerking roughly and unevenly on his cock.

He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell Nigel how close he was, how he loved him. But there wasn't enough air for it, so Ron settled for small, strangled moans as he reached up with his free hand, fingers digging into Nigel's arm, his blunt nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in tan skin. Then, between one struggling breath and the next, Ron tumbled over the edge, spasms wracking his body as he came, clinging to Nigel frantically, trying to pull him in, closer, over into the burning, tingling fire of his orgasm. And then, unexpectedly, the world went black, and Ron's body went limp as he passed out right then and there.

Ron's body squeezed him ruthlessly as he came and it pulled Nigel over the edge with him. Nigel thrust with another few short jerks as he spilled into Ron, his world exploding in wave after wave of hard pleasure. He wasn't sure how long after his orgasm it took him to notice that Ron was limp and unmoving under him and it made him frantic, his panic fighting with the lassitude of his body after such an intense and fast climax. He pulled out of Ron and fell to the floor on his knees next to the sofa, quickly straightening Ron's long body and sighing with relief at the even rise and fall of his chest. Lips quirking in amusement at his own panic and at Ron's unconsciousness, Nigel smoothed his hands over the pale freckled skin in front of him. "Come back to me, baby," he murmured. He brushed Ron's hair away from his face tenderly, fingers lingering, ghosting over that long Weasley nose. "C'mon."

As though he'd just been napping, Ron's eyes blinked open slowly, his head turning to the side. "Nigel..." he said with a decidedly goofy grin. "What're you doing over there for?"

"Just making sure you could breathe, is all. I'm rather solid." Nigel grinned back at Ron, shifted on his knees and was distracted by the resultant crackle of paper. "Hello, what's this?" He reached down and retrieved Bill's letter. "Ahhh." Nigel read the letter again and shot Ron a gleeful look. "So, should we make them work for it or pull the rug out from under them?"

"Definitely make them work for it," Ron said with a wicked grin. "I asked Oliver not to tell Bill, you know. Least we could do is let them twist a bit." He stretched, body complaining just enough to make Ron purr in self-satisfaction. "God, I feel fucking brilliant, Nige."

Nigel smoothed his hand down the expanse of Ron's stomach as he stretched. "Yes," he murmured, "you do." Nigel grinned. "We'll let them twist. Although you should have known Oliver would tell Bill." Nigel rolled his eyes and stood, hitching his pants and jeans up and closing his flies. He bent and grabbed his shirt and Bill's letter in one motion, then tugged the shirt back on. "I'll owl Bill, pretend I have no idea it's a set-up."

Still naked himself, Ron stood and hooked his fingers in Nigel's belt loops, tugging him closer. Ron was going to have to find his jeans sooner or later, especially considering how they were the only pair of trousers he had there, but for now, Ron just nosed along Nigel's neck again, grinning. "I wasn't thinking too clearly," he confessed. "All I knew was I was in love with a bloke that didn't seem to want a thing to do with me again. I was _wrong_ ," he added quickly, winding an arm around Nigel's neck, "but even so, Oliver was the only one I could think to talk to."

"You must have been terribly desperate," Nigel said dryly, torn between amusement and regret. "To have only Oliver to talk to." He wrapped his own arms around Ron's waist and tucked his face into the crook of Ron's neck. _I love you so much._

"Either him or Bill, and you know how that wanker likes to meddle," Ron said quietly, just enjoying being held for the moment. He sighed, smiling to himself. "I love you, you know," he whispered, kissing Nigel's neck. "But I need a shower; I smell like a rent boy again."

Nigel grinned and tightened his hold. "You're just saying that to make me jealous, aren't you?" Relaxing his arms, Nigel nosed up Ron's neck and nipped at his earlobe. "I love you," he murmured. "Even though you _do_ smell like a rent boy."

Ron snorted. "And who got me this way?" he asked, nipping back before stepping away reluctantly, deliberately avoiding answering Nigel's question. His jeans and pants were strewn out over the coffee table. "I'm going to have to go home at some point, by the way, and get a clean change of clothes."

"Just don't use all the shampoo," Nigel said with a lingering stroke over Ron's hip as he let go completely. "You really should just bring some of your clothes over and leave them here. S'more practical." Nigel used the most offhand tone he could and didn't look at Ron as he said it, crossing to the writing desk and pulling a fresh piece of parchment from the drawer instead.

Grabbing his jeans, Ron did his best to hide the grin Nigel's words brought. His chest felt warm and full to bursting, and there was no way he was saying that out loud if Nigel was determined to play this cool. "Is that so?" he said, but the smile bled into his words. "I reckon I could do that. You might want to do the same at my flat, then. To be properly practical. Besides," he added, turning as he slung his jeans over his shoulder and headed for the shower, "I've got a bigger bath at my place."

Nigel laughed as Ron left the room, calling after him, "Are you suggesting we conserve water, Ron?"

"I'm _saying_ ," Ron called from down the hall as he started the shower and then stuck his head out the open door, "that it might be more _practical_ to wash as you get me dirty again."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Nigel smirked. He sat and read through Bill's note again, dashed off a quick reply, and set it aside to send in the morning before heading to the loo. He rather thought it might be fun to get Ron _dirty_ again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 _Bill,_

 _As if you don't get laid often enough as it is. Perhaps Oliver's finally succumbed to my admittedly superior charms, and that's why he's so concerned with my well-being, and that's why you aren't getting laid. I'll run away with the boy yet, you just watch. _

_Plan on me for Thursday, I suppose, and if I decide at 7:59 that I can't stir myself from my sulk, I'll owl._

 _Nigel_

 

Bill couldn't help his scowl as he read over Nigel's letter again before checking the roast. He really wasn't much of a cook, but his mother had insisted there was no way this recipe could be messed up. And, surprisingly, it looked like she was right. Bill breathed a sigh of relief despite his annoyance with Nigel; there were enough things to worry about for later than whether or not dinner would be edible.

"I know Nigel thinks he's funny," he grumbled in Oliver's general direction, "but..."

Oliver grinned. "Usually you think he's funny, too," he said mildly, gathering the dishes he'd need to set the table. "But what?"

Grumbling something that sounded rather like a petulant _you're mine_, Bill shook his head. "He seems pretty well all right now, doesn't he? Nothing much like how he was last week."

"You got that from a letter?" Oliver set the dishes on the table and went to Bill, wrapping himself around his love from behind. He kissed Bill's shoulder then rested his forehead there. "I love you."

"He sounds like his old self again," Bill said, covering Oliver's arms with his own. When he'd thought he'd lost Oliver, Bill hadn't been able to fake being all right half as well as this, if Nigel was faking it. If he wasn't... "What if we're wrong and this only hurts Ron more?"

Oliver sighed, lips curving down. "That is a chance we're talking, I admit. But you didn't see his face when he told me, Bill. And you said Nigel's the one of you who always believed in love. And that he was miserable. Besides, I think it's much easier to fake a letter. You don't have to put on the right expression or use the right tone of voice, it's just words on a paper." He kissed Bill's shoulder again. "I really believe this will work. That they need each other."

Bill turned around in Oliver's arms and managed a small smile. "I love you," he breathed, kissing the tip of Oliver's nose just as someone knocked at their front door.

Tilting his face up, Oliver met Bill's mouth with his own in a quick kiss. "I know," he said with a soft smile, then pulled away to go answer the door.

"Hello, Nigel," Oliver grinned, noting that there were no bags under Nigel's eyes and his skin was a healthy colour. He was right, he knew he was, but he could feel himself tense anyway. Nigel did not look broken at all. Oliver stepped back from the door to let the older man in.

"Oliver," Nigel said, "are you ready to leave that lug yet? You know I'm only waiting for you to say the word." He grinned back at Oliver as he entered the house, shrugging off his coat and handing it to Oliver, who only rolled his eyes at Nigel before taking Nigel's coat to the front closet. Nigel sighed theatrically. "I'm destined to pine a while longer, apparently."

Oliver snorted out a laugh and turned back to Nigel, pulling him into a quick hug hello now he'd hung up Nigel's coat and his hands were free. "As if you haven't been unfaithful to me for years now."

Nigel squeezed Oliver back with a wide genuine smile. Bill really had completely lucked out, and thank god he'd been smart enough to fix things with Oliver. Nigel had come to love Oliver the way he loved Bill. "Man cannot live on unrequited love alone, Oliver. It's your fault I've been with other men, you drove me to it."

"Oh, no. True love is faithful and chaste." Oliver tried, he really did, but he couldn't stop the laugh that escaped. "You really are obnoxious, Nigel, but we love you anyway. What would you like to drink?"

"Chaste?" Both Nigel's eyebrows rose at that, then he laughed long and hard. "I expect chaste is the last thing the two of you are, and god knows you truly love each other. Beer's fine, whatever you've got."

" _Mine_ , Nigel," Bill called from the kitchen at the sound of laughter from the hall. "The sooner you accept that, the sooner I'll let you in here to get your own bloody beer."

Nigel leaned against the doorframe and smirked at Bill. "Selfish, is what you are. A man should share with his best mate. And I'm your guest. You should get me my beer."

Bill snorted inelegantly. "You're family, is what you are," he said, checking on the vegetables once more. "And family serves themselves. Just count yourself lucky that I don't ask you to set the table."

"Oh fine." Nigel grinned and crossed to the icebox. He tugged it open and snagged beer for the three of them. "I'll be the bigger man," he said grandly, "and serve you instead. Besides, Oliver's already set the table." Nigel waved the bottle in one hand towards the table, where Oliver was just finishing with the silverware, then handed the bottle to Bill.

"That's because Oliver's got better manners than you do," Bill said, opening his beer and leaning back against the counter. Dinner was nearly done, and Ron would be here at any minute; Bill was enjoying the peace while it lasted. Nigel would _not_ like being ambushed, and neither would Ron. "Comes from training them young, you know?"

"And you certainly started him young," Nigel said softly, smirking. He wasn't sure how good an actor he really was, and also wasn't sure he was going to be able to keep himself off Ron long enough to get back at his best mates for trying to meddle. Looking at Bill, he rather thought he couldn't have had a better best mate if he'd done a deliberate search for one. His smirk widened. Which was why he was going to take such pleasure in fucking with him. It was never as much fun if you didn't care.

Bill flipped two fingers at Nigel for the age comment just as there was a knock at the door. Bill barely resisted the urge to tense up. That would be Ron. "Dinner's about done," he said instead. "Be right back."

"Are we having company, Bill?" Nigel barely resisted the urge to laugh at Bill. He could see the nerves as Bill walked to the door to let Ron in. Bill knew, even if Oliver didn't, the potential for disaster inherent here. Nigel snorted. It hadn't stopped Bill from agreeing to dinner, though.

Muttering something deliberately unintelligible, Bill opened the door. "Hullo, baby brother," he said, tugging on Ron's sleeve to pull him in. "You're not quite late yet. I'm disappointed." Ron looked... good. Relaxed. Not even slightly as miserable as Oliver had said he did. Oh god, he was never going to live this down if there was nothing there after all.

Ron rolled his eyes at Bill. "Good to see you too, you ancient old bastard," he said, deliberately giving Bill a bratty look. "Let go of us, would you? I can walk just fine." He barely managed to keep from laughing at how Bill was trying to get between him and the door as he shrugged off his coat. "Oliver?" he called down in the general direction of the kitchen. "I hope he let you stay dressed in there; I'm bloody well starved and I smell Mum's roast."

Behind Ron, Bill flinched. Well, now Nigel would know who was here, now wouldn't he?

"It's not Oliver in here," Nigel said, walking to stand in the door and lean against the frame. "Or not only Oliver." Nigel's eyes ran over Ron and his gut clenched. God, he looked good. Making sure Bill wasn't looking, Nigel winked at Ron. "You didn't tell me I wasn't your only guest, Bill." Nigel forced his voice to sound slightly annoyed.

While no one else could see, Ron stuck the end of his tongue out at Nigel. "The fuck's all this?" he asked, using his most annoyed voice. "What're _you_ doing here?"

Nigel's eyebrow rose and he folded his arms, fighting back a laugh. "I was offered a free meal," he said, "and accepted. Even if it was Bill's cooking. Am I not allowed to accept invitations from my best mate now, just because he's _your_ brother?" Nigel straightened and sauntered toward Ron. "Don't worry, you can always petrify me again and lean me against the wall while you eat and run."

Being as this had all been Oliver's idea, Bill would have given just about anything to have his other half step in and take charge of his mess, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. This was his brother and his best mate, and his blame whether he was the one to suggest it or not.

"We can invite whoever we damn well please," Bill said, a bit testy at being in the middle even though he'd asked for it. "And we can boot anyone who can't act halfway civil, too."

Scowling, Ron turned on Bill. "I've a mind to leave anyhow," he half-snarled. "If I wanted to talk to your prat of a mate, I know where he lives."

"I can be a grown up if you can," Nigel said snidely. "Is your mum's roast worth the effort?" Poor Bill. Nigel had to turn away to hide the grin he couldn't suppress any more. He turned completely around and headed back into the kitchen, where Oliver was mutely finishing the final touches, getting the meal on the table and making sure everything was ready. Nigel could see distress in the line of his back and set of his shoulders. Oliver had always cared too much. Nigel sighed. "I'm sorry, Oliver," he murmured.

Oliver shrugged one shoulder and wouldn't look at Nigel. "I - yeah. We shouldn't have sprung him on you, I suppose, but would you have come if you'd known he'd be here too?" Oliver took a breath and turned to try a smile that didn't quite work. "I've been worried about you two."

Nigel smiled faintly. "I know. Don't worry, Oliver, it's fine. Really."

Grumbling, Bill pushed past Nigel. "Yeah," he muttered, grabbing his beer off the counter and pulling out another for Ron. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

"I don't see what's got _your_ knickers in a twist," Ron said, following after. With four fully grown men in the room, Bill and Oliver's kitchen was downright snug, so it was easy for Ron to brush the back of his hand against Nigel's in a light caress that would have looked accidental to anyone else. "You're not the one who's been ambushed, now are you?"

Bill turned and gave Ron A Look. The sort of look that dared him to keep on pushing, and the same sort of look that had earned him a good whallop or two back in Bill's reluctant child-minding days. Oliver _owed_ him for this. "Dinner's ready," he said. "Are you hungry, or did you just want to whinge and leave?"

"Bill," Oliver said quietly. He moved to wrap his arm around Bill's waist, more to comfort himself than for any other reason. "It's going to get cold, and Bill worked hard to fix everything." He pinned Nigel and Ron with a serious look he didn't wear often, and which was all the more effective for it. "If you want to fight you'll have to do it after and somewhere else. Our home is neutral territory and you will sit and eat, now."

Oliver's touch had an instant calming influence, and Bill took a steadying breath as he kissed Oliver's hair. He knew how important this was to Oliver, and how much it must be upsetting him to see everyone behaving like this. "You're amazing," he murmured softly, deliberately ignoring his brother and his friend.

Ron felt a chagrined blush rising up his neck and staining his cheeks. He'd wanted to wind them up, true, but he hadn't meant to upset Oliver, who had never been anything but good to him, even when they were in school. Wordlessly, he turned to the table, making eye contact with Nigel for a long moment. _I love you_ , he tried to say, and was fairly sure Nigel got the message.

Nigel followed Ron, fighting the urge to squirm. When they sat, Nigel reached to grab Ron's hand under the table and squeezed it briefly before letting go. While he wouldn't mind letting Oliver in on the joke, he wasn't quite ready to let Bill off the hook, which unfortunately meant keeping Oliver in the dark.

Oliver leaned into Bill and watched the other two move silently to the table. He bit back a laugh, because Nigel never did anything silently. "Not really," he murmured to Bill, looking up at him with a smile and completely missing the furtive hand holding at the table. "It's getting cold," Oliver said, "now _you_ sit and eat." Leaning in, Oliver whispered, "You'll need the energy for afters once they leave."

"Yes, _sir_ ," Bill said with a ghost of his usual grin, and brought fresh drinks over for everyone before sitting. Once Oliver had joined them, Bill offered the servers over to Ron. "Go on then," he said, face almost apologetic. "You know the rule. Family helps themselves."

Very nearly giving in at the look on his brother's face, Ron just shook his head and gave his half-grin. Soon enough they'd let Bill and Oliver in on the joke, but for now he had to go with the plan. "Yeah, all right," he said, and took a good-sized portion of the roast. "Looks like mum's," he said. "Did you switch yours for hers?" Without thinking, Ron put the servers back, angling them so Nigel could reach.

"Piss off," Bill said, good nature showing through. It helped, too, to see a flicker of understanding in Ron's eyes. His little brother might not know all the details, but at least he got that Bill was meddling because he cared. "I haven't burnt a roast in years and you know it."

Nigel laughed and reached to serve himself. "Maybe not, but you burn everything else."

Oliver grinned. "He does not. Not _everything_."

"Oi!" Bill said, looking affronted. "What's with the abuse on my poor cooking? Just because I don't wear a cute, frilly little apron like Ollie does..."

Oliver quickly smacked the back of Bill's head. "Just for that, I'm throwing the apron away, and you'll never see it again." He winked at Nigel, who choked on his drink and then roared with laughter.

With the air a bit more relaxed, everyone settled into their meals. Ron and Nigel, Bill noticed, seemed to be avoiding looking at each other entirely, but Bill couldn't really complain. At least they weren't sniping at each other, and Oliver seemed more himself the longer they went without any angry words over the table.

Dinner seemed, to Ron, to take forever. All he wanted as to be able to have the same sort of casual touches that Bill and Oliver had, but this stupid prank of his and Nigel's made it so they couldn't, and the only way Ron could manage to keep his hands to himself was to do anything and everything to avoid looking directly at his lover while they sat side-by-side. Their elbows bumped briefly, and Ron very nearly leant into Nigel, just to feel him.

Nigel couldn't help it; he toed off one shoe and pushed his foot up Ron's leg, rubbing under the edge of his jeans with stocking-covered toes. Even just that little bit of contact relaxed him immeasureably, even though he was mildly embarrassed that a man his age was reduced to playing footsie under the table. He felt Ron twitch briefly and then Ron stretched out his leg to ease Nigel's way, and he elbowed Nigel at the same time. Nigel sucked in a breath and fought the laugh that wanted to escape. In revenge for the elbow, Nigel let his hand sink under the table and over into Ron's lap. He cupped Ron through the denim, squeezed, and let go, then lifted his hand and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

Ron coughed, nearly choking on his food when Nigel groped him under the table. He shook off Bill's raised eyebrow, and took a swig of his beer. That was a dirty trick, and Ron gave Nigel a narrow-eyed glance for it. Two could play at that game.

Sighing in contentment, Ron pushed back his plate. "Tell mum her roast is still brilliant," he teased Bill, stretching his arms up and cracking his neck a couple of times as he groaned happily. Over the past week, Ron had learnt, and quickly, what his habitual stretching did to Nigel. Bill just rolled his eyes and flipped Ron off as he stood, gathering his and Ron's plates.

Nigel's hands clenched against the primal need to _touch_ , and he stood, chair scraping against the floor. He picked up his plate and asked with an eyebrow if Oliver was done. When Oliver nodded and smiled, Nigel picked up his plate as well and followed Bill to the sink. There was apparently a downside to having someone who knew his body that well. Nigel put the dishes down in the sink, then discreetly adjusted himself before turning around again. "You were right, Bill, it wasn't burnt."

"You don't say?" Bill said dryly. "I couldn't tell, being as it disappeared so quickly."

Nigel smirked and patted Bill's stomach. "You ate your fair share," he said.

Oliver laughed and stood. "Go," he said, making a shooing motion with his hands at Ron and Nigel. "Bill and I will clean up a bit and bring dessert in. You both know where the liquor cabinet is if you want anything." Dinner had been so relaxed that Oliver had forgotten the strain that had made everyone so uncomfortable before their meal, and thought nothing of sending the other two off to be by themselves.

"Right then." Ron didn't need to be told twice, though it was a near thing to keep from running to the living room. Where he and Nigel could be alone, if only for a few moments. He _needed_ to touch Nigel, to kiss the smirk he knew would be teasing the corners of his mouth. He needed it now.

Bill watched Ron go, and couldn't help the twinge of worry. He knew Ron really was that good at faking it when he needed to be, and he could only hope he wouldn't wind up short one best mate before the dishes were done. But, at the same, time, Bill reckoned that maybe a minute or two alone might be good for them, if Ron and Nigel had anything between them at all that was worth patching, that is.

Nigel followed Ron, grabbing him as soon as they were out of sight and pulling him into a rough kiss. "Good god," he murmured, "this is ridiculous." Then he pulled Ron even closer and kissed him again.

Groaning in agreement, Ron threaded his fingers through Nigel's hair, cradling his head in one large hand. "All I want to do is take you back to my flat so we can stop playing this silly game," he murmured, rubbing their noses side-by-side before diving in for another kiss. "I love the meddling pair of them, but not nearly as much as I love you."

"I would hope not," Nigel said, grinning against Ron's mouth. "But you were the one who said to string them along, remember. This is your fault, and I'm going to make you make it up to me when we get home." Nigel reached down to cup Ron's arse in one hand. "Over and over again."

Ron laughed, a rich and throaty sound, and slid his hand up under Nigel's thin jumper, curving around the warm skin of Nigel's waist. "God, I hope so," he murmured, nipping at Nigel's lips. "Just promise me you won't go so mad with the stretching," he added, voice dropping as he kissed along Nigel's square jaw to nibble on his ear. "I like the burn of it, yeah?"

Nigel's brain completely short-circuited and he actually whimpered. He cleared his throat and tried to string a few words together coherently. "Maybe, I could make you stretch yourself," he said, pleased with himself for getting it all out.

"Only if you promise to watch," Ron said, and then sealed their mouths together again. He'd let go of Nigel, any second now and before Bill or Oliver caught them. Any second... Groaning, Ron sucked Nigel's tongue into his mouth, fingers clenching as he tried to get _closer_. They stumbled back, nearly knocking over an end table, but Ron didn't care remotely.

In the kitchen, Bill's ears perked up at the faint sound of what might have been a scuffle. "You so sure it was a good idea to leave those two in a room alone together, pet?" he asked as Oliver handed him the fourth teacup. "They might have been behaving through dinner, but they're still on pretty bad terms."

"Oh hell." Oliver nearly dropped the teacup he was handing to Bill. "Would you believe I forgot?" After making sure Bill had a firm grip on the cup, Oliver walked quietly to the door and pushed it open just enough to peer into the other room. His eyes widened and he quickly stepped back, pulling the door shut and turning to grin at Bill. "They're fine," he said, eyes dancing.

Bill stopped adding tea to the infuser and cocked an eyebrow at the look on Oliver's face. "They are?" he asked cautiously. "What, did they knock each other out?"

Oliver motioned Bill closer. "Not exactly," he said, still grinning. "And either Nigel works fast, or they've been lying."

Rather than ask any more questions, Bill grabbed a flannel, dried his hands and went to join Oliver. He pushed the door open and peered in, jaw dropping in momentary surprise as his brain skidded to a halt and reversed directions.

Nigel had Ron backed against a wall, one hand between them and rubbing Ron's groin while Ron had a good handful of Nigel's hair in one hand and the other had Nigel's jumper pushed halfway up his back. Ron had a wide stance, lowering his height just enough to be level with Nigel, who was practically eating Ron's mouth with deep and hard kisses, like Ron was more essential than air right then, and Ron was doing it right back, growling low in his throat and twisting his hand in Nigel's hair. Arm working harder, Nigel doubled his efforts between their bodies, and that was when Ron moaned, head thunking back against the wall.

"I vote for them having lied to us, baby," Bill turned to murmur in Oliver's ear, annoyed that they'd been deceived but knowing they deserved it for being so nosy.

Oliver pulled Bill back from the door. "Somehow, I don't mind being lied to this time," he said. He tugged the door shut and wrapped his arms around Bill's neck. "I don't think we'll need the tea after all, and this means more dessert for us."

Bill snorted quietly. "I'd say so," he said, grinning down at Oliver. Smile softening, Bill brushed the back of his fingers along Oliver's cheek. "Looks like you were right."

"Did you doubt me?" Oliver smiled up at Bill, deliberately not mentioning his own doubts. "You know," he said, "I wouldn't mind the same sort of dessert Ron's getting." He cocked an eyebrow at Bill expectantly.

"Nigel's cock?" Bill asked with a smirk. "Trust me, it's nothing all that special." Then he laughed and kissed Oliver lightly as there was a distinct groan from the other side of the door. "Though my baby brother would probably disagree."

Oliver laughed. "And you would know, wouldn't you? No, I said the same _sort_ of dessert, not the same dessert. And honestly, I hope they aren't going to go that far in our living room." Oliver grinned triumphantly as they heard the distinct sound of Apparation in the living room. "Now that we're alone, let's see about that dessert..."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nigel broke free of Ron's mouth and gasped for air as he Apparated them straight into his bedroom. "I'll owl Oliver tomorrow," he muttered. "He'll understand." Then he roughly tugged at Ron's shirt, pulling the tails free and fumbling the buttons open. "Why in hell did you wear a button shirt?"

"Was trying to dress nice," Ron gasped, fingers clumsy as he tried to help. "Was a stupid idea," he added, tugging sharply and sending three buttons skittering across Nigel's bedroom. "God, was so close to begging you to fuck me _right there_."

"Would have," Nigel gasped. Since Ron was making good progress on the shirt, Nigel started on Ron's flies, shoving pants and trousers off Ron's hips once he had them open. "Oh god." Dropping to his knees, Nigel nosed at Ron's cock before putting out his tongue to lick his way slowly up the long shaft, then again.

Ron shuddered, his hands kneading Nigel's shoulders for a moment before he backed away, kicking off his jeans and pants. "Naked," he said in a low voice, yanking his shirt up and off and then crawled onto Nigel's bed, kneeling in the middle, all lean and pale muscles, freckles dotting his flushed skin. Ron wrapped his hand around his own cock, squeezing himself slowly, teasingly. "Want you so much."

Nigel groaned and stood, quickly stripping himself before climbing on the bed after Ron. "You are fucking gorgeous," he growled, then pushed Ron so he fell over on his side. "And I'm going to fuck you until you scream."

"I don't scream," Ron said, his voice rough as he rolled onto his back. "But give me half a chance and I could bite," he added, shooting Nigel an almost feral grin before rolling again and stretching for the bedside table, deliberately dragging the move out. "I think you said something about watching me with my fingers in my arse," he said over his shoulder, holding up the bottle of lubricant. His wand was... somewhere on the floor, and so was Nigel's, and besides that, Ron's mind was most definitely _not_ on working magic.

"You were the one who said watching," Nigel said, his eyes fixed on the lean length of Ron stretched over the bed. "I just said you should stretch yourself." He gave Ron a grin that was just as nearly feral as Ron's had been. "Since you don't like the way I do it." Nigel couldn't resist any longer, he had to touch, so he put his hands on Ron's legs and began stroking up, fingers ghosting over fine red hair.

Laughing softly, Ron opened the lube and slicked two fingers, reaching behind himself and bending one of his legs to find his own entrance better. "Not that I don't like it," he said, pausing to moan softly as he breached himself, eyes fluttering shut. "Love having any of you in me." Ron bit his lip and pushed deeper, sighing as he relaxed, chest curving out as he doubled back to move deeper, wrist twisting as he spread the lubricant faster. "Just that I like the burn, too," he groaned, shuddering once as sparks went off behind closed lids.

Nigel's eyes were intent on Ron's fingers as they pushed inside. "Oh god," he said hoarsely. "Oh fuck, that's hot." Nigel pushed the leg Ron had bent, forcing it higher, then he bent and bit the curve of Ron's arse. "Hurry," he murmured, "I need to fuck you."

"Kiss me first," Ron begged, twisting to look at Nigel with darkened eyes. "Kiss me, then fuck me. Fill me, split me wide and make me come."

With a harsh sound, Nigel pushed Ron to his back and loomed over him. He cupped Ron's face in one hand and kissed him hard, biting at his lip. "Get yourself ready, Ron. Because ready or not, I'm going to fuck you."

Ron knew it was horribly wrong, but he couldn't help it; he started to snicker. Body shaking under Nigel, hand over his mouth like he was half his age, Ron was damn near giggling, eyes squinting up at Nigel. "Ready or not, here you come?" he asked, still shaking with laughter.

Nigel rolled off Ron and threw an arm over his eyes. "Right. Apparently not, then."

Rolling his eyes, Ron climbed over Nigel, cover him with his body. "Oh, come on," he said, still grinning as he tugged at Nigel's arm. "Don't be like that, love."

Moving his arm just enough to look at Ron, Nigel cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I can't now after all. So you'll have lots of time to get ready." Nigel's appreciation of the absurd was beginning to win out over his discomfort, and he had to fight to keep the grin from his lips.

When he saw the twitch of Nigel's lips, Ron grinned openly at his lover. "We can worry about me later," he said, and kissed Nigel lightly. "But I reckon I ought to make it up to you... you know, for hurting your feelings?" Without waiting for a response, Ron moved down, kissing Nigel's jaw, his neck, his adam's apple. "Never laughed with anyone like I do with you," he added, smile clear in his voice as he nibbled Nigel's shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you," Nigel said, grumbling. He shifted under Ron, trying not to give in to the laugh threatening. Trying to at least _pretend_ to hang on to his snit. "But really, I'm not in the mood anymore." His cock twitched as if in response, and Nigel bit his lip. Not fair, when his own body wouldn't listen to him!

Ron grinned against Nigel's sternum and veered to the side, licking and sucking on one of Nigel's flat nipples, teasing it into a pebbled peak. "That's fine," he said, petting the other side of Nigel's chest with one hand in slow strokes. "I'll just entertain myself with the best sort of distraction until you are."

"Right, you do that." Nigel took a slow breath in through his nose and closed his eyes. Although he really hadn't been in the mood once Ron started laughing, it wasn't going to take much to get him back there, especially if Ron kept touching him like that. "Don't let me stop you," he said magnanimously.

"So kind," Ron said, still grinning crookedly as he kissed a slow path down Nigel's body in between his words. "Thoughtful. Giving. Everyone's best mate, really." He nibbled at the jut of Nigel's hipbone and smirked, looking up through half-hooded eyes. "But fortunately," he added, hand sliding up the inside of Nigel's thigh, skating up and around his groin, "never modest."

Nigel choked as he tried to snort out a laugh and gasp at the same time. "Exactly," he wheezed. He slid his legs apart, shifted his hips. It felt so good, as if Ron's hands had a direct connection to his heart and mind that no one else had ever managed to find. He reached down with one hand to stroke Ron's hair. "I don't want to be just your best mate," Nigel murmured absently.

"Me either, love," Ron breathed, leaning into Nigel's touch, eyes closing for just a moment. "I'd rather you just kept being everything." He looked up then, teasing gone for a moment and eyes calm and serious. "It's mad, to feel like this after only a month," he admitted with a crooked grin, "but I love you. So much."

"I love you," Nigel answered with a slow smile. It widened and he said, "Everything? A tall order, that."

Ron laughed softly and kissed Nigel's hip again. "Well, I'm a tall bloke," he said, giving his crooked grin, the expression turning mischievous as he wrapped long fingers around Nigel's cock and stroked the once-more hard length. Turning his head, Ron snaked out his tongue and licked the tip of Nigel's cock, humming in enjoyment at the taste.

Nigel hissed in a breath and tightened his fingers in Ron's hair, neck arching to press his head back into the pillow. _God_. "You are, yeah," he managed, "a bit too tall, maybe."

"Never heard you complain before," Ron murmured, mouthing along the base of Nigel's cock, breathing in his scent.

"Not complaining, exactly," Nigel said breathlessly. He spread his legs wider and fought to keep his hips still. "Just an observation." Nigel couldn't think anymore for the pleasure swirling through him, couldn't find anything else clever to say. "Suck me," he moaned. "God, Ron, just... ngh."

"Love it when you're speechless," Ron said, kissing slowly up Nigel's length and parting his lips to suck Nigel all the way down in one long, slow swallow, knowing he'd teased enough for now.

"Never," Nigel gasped out, eyes wide at the rush of sudden pleasure as Ron sucked him in. "Never speechless. Oh my god." Nigel suddenly found that he had both hands in Ron's hair, his fingers working slowly against Ron's scalp. "Oh. God, that's good."

Ron rumbled wordlessly around Nigel, cheeks hollowed with effort as he lifted his head and swirled his tongue around and around. He reached up with one hand, fingers sliding over Nigel's heated skin, caressing him, pushing Nigel just a little higher.

Nigel groaned, taking one hand from Ron's head to grab his hand and link their fingers. "Ron," he said hoarsely, voice full of need. He had to fight to open his eyes and watch as Ron sucked him, and the sight of his cock between Ron's lips tightened his stomach and sent pleasure sparking up his spine. "Fuck, that's - god. _Ron._ "

Looking up at Nigel through his fringe, Ron breathed as deeply as he could through his nose, squeezed Nigel's hand and reached back, making sure he was still loose, and growling happily when he found he was. Or at least close enough. He shifted, pushing Nigel's legs together and straddling them now instead of kneeling between them, and finally, Ron lifted his head enough to be able to lick his swollen lips. "Nigel..." he said in a low voice, rough with need. "Are you in the mood yet, love?"

"I don't know," Nigel growled. He tightened his fingers on Ron's, and used his other hand to curl around Ron's arm and tug. "Let's find out." He pulled Ron to his mouth and into a hard kiss, then rolled and pinned Ron under him, never breaking the kiss.

"I reckon that's a yes," Ron laughed breathlessly against Nigel's mouth, and then pushed up and over, rolling them back over again and looming over Nigel's strong and solid body. Grinning down at his lover almost wildly, Ron reached back and grabbed at Nigel's cock, positioning him and then sank back, slowly impaling himself with a gasp. "Oh... holy _fuck_ ," Ron whimpered through clenched teeth, his body stretching slowly and deliciously, tingling from the crown of his head down to the tips of his toes with perfect pain-tinted pleasure. "Oh god, that's... that's good."

"Yes," Nigel said almost inaudibly, his whole body so taut he was sure he was going to snap. Ron was so fucking _tight_ , so hot. So beautiful. So his. Nigel sucked in air harshly, arching up slowly as Ron sank down. His jaw worked as he fought not to thrust, not to flip them again and pound into Ron until they both exploded. "Move," he begged. " _Please_."

Just then, Ron sank the last bit down, completely covering Nigel. "Thought I was..." he gasped, head hanging forward as he clenched around Nigel. He hurt so perfectly, and Ron didn't think there were even words for how it felt, wrapped up so amazingly with how _good_ Nigel felt inside of him. He shuddered and clenched his hand around Nigel's, their fingers still tangled together, and then started to move, thighs bunching and tense as he moved up and down, slowly and steadily fucking himself at this new angle. "Oh..." Ron whimpered, lip caught between his teeth and pure bliss on his face. " _Oh_..."

Just as he was ready to flip them, to take control, Nigel looked at Ron's face and froze. Ron was flushed and his face was tight, a look of pleasure so intense it could be pain clear on his face. It was literally the most beautiful thing Nigel had ever seen. "Ron," he whispered. He brought their linked hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to Ron's knuckles, then grit his teeth and sucked in more air. "Fuck yourself, Ron," he murmured, not sure Ron could even hear him, barely able to hear himself through the roar in his ears from the blood rushing through his veins.

Ron gasped Nigel's name, moving hard and faster, his body overwhelmed in sensation and pleasure. "Yes," he moaned, lifting his body up and slamming back down again and again, nonsense spilling from his lips. He clenched as he moved, body clinging to the hard length inside of him, and Ron had to struggle to open his eyes, looking down at Nigel with wide, black pupils ringed in dark blue. "T... touch me," he begged, stuttering helplessly.

Nigel reached down and wrapped his hand around Ron's cock, letting Ron's movements force it through the curl of his fingers again and again. "Like that, baby?" he said, squeezing Ron's hand, their fingers still linked. He was so close, pleasure screaming through him as Ron moved and clenched on his cock, eyes locked desperately on Ron's face. "Come for me, Ron, let me feel you fall apart."

The air in Ron's lungs shuddered and gasped, because he didn't care that he was supposed to keep breathing. All that mattered was that he keep moving, up and down, back and forth, fucking himself hard and fast and driving the both of them absolutely mad from it. Then Ron gave a strangled sound as the air sobbed back into his lungs and his back curved and his hand clenched, white-knuckled around Nigel's, and Ron gasped Nigel's name as he came, still moving as he came all over the both of them, eyes screwed shut as lights exploded behind his eyelids and he could only _whimper_ gladly.

"Thank _god_ ," Nigel gasped, and finally flipped them, letting go of all semblance of control as he began to pound into Ron's sated body. Half a dozen fast hard thrusts and Nigel was coming himself, body jerking as he convulsed and spilled into Ron. "Ron," he said, over and over again, "oh god, Ron."

Breathless, Ron could only pet Nigel's back soothingly while they both tried to catch their wind. " _Fuck_ ," he finally managed, laughing weakly.

Nigel snorted. "Not for at least an hour, I don't think." With far more effort than he thought it should take, Nigel gathered himself enough to roll off Ron and onto his back on the bed next to him. "God, kid, you're going to kill me one of these times." Turning his head, he grinned at Ron. "And I can't think of a better way to go."

Ron gave Nigel a brilliant grin and laughed again. "Just you wait... I'll get more ideas that'll have us popping out of family dinners, I'm sure." He stretched slowly, moaning in pleasure. "Fucking brill," he murmured, eyes slitted like a cat's.

"Thank you," Nigel said dryly with only a touch of the smugness he felt. He rolled to his side and let his hand ghost over the stretch of muscles in Ron's abdomen. "Actually," he said, "I rather hope that when we aren't playing stupid games we can keep ourselves a bit under control." He smirked. "I'd rather not give your brother any more ammunition, you know."

"And I'd rather him not walking in on us," Ron laughed, relaxing against the bed in a comfortable sprawl. "You might have no modesty, but there are some things I'd rather not share with Bill, you know?"

Nigel curled himself around Ron and yawned. "If you insist," Nigel grinned back. "So I'll just have to fuck you before we go, and then fuck you again after."

"Oh, the sacrifice," Ron murmured, curling back around Nigel and kissing what ever part was nearest. "Love you."

"Love you back," Nigel whispered. And he did. Nigel nuzzled his nose in Ron's hair, content. Finally not alone, and not lonely. His last smug thought as he drifted off to sleep was that it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

~~~*~~~

 _~fin~_

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥


End file.
